Promised Land


Promised Land



Past the burnt-down barn,

past the tracks of a narrow road

far into wilderness chaos, the clearing is found,

shelves are emptied, floors are once again seen.

The house is open like lips learning

how to talk instead of scream. There is peace

in the soundwaves, animals are


from the verge of death, upright, energy restored.


It was a long walk to the podium to finally have your say,

but the effort has paid off, the love given was not wasted

or disfigured permanently, was not solidified into

a lost-forever horrorshow as we thought it would.


Gold has returned to our pockets, water faucets are running,

laughter is common, coming from under doors.

Love is like it once was when we had our Rooms of Joy –

when we had each other, explorers of unending light.


Around the tree I dance my praise.

Gratitude I never expected,

years of trying to pet the violent horse’s mane,

touch its forehead with a kiss –

now she is still, soft and free.


We made it past the dumpyards and the

foreign countries full of war and pillage.

We stayed the course, singing when we could, letting go 

of hope in steady increments of necessity,

unravelling the last thread of our faith

until hell overtook. And in those relentless flames

we still believed and asked for mercy.

Mercy has come.


My home is happy once again. My children have returned,

married and bearing the seeds of deep maturity and there,

there, sprouting back after years of dormancy,

those glorious, sacred child-like smiles.



 © 2018 by Allison Grayhurst



Published in “Synchronized Chaos” September 2018



Published in “Chicago Record Magazine” August 2018



You can listen to the poem by clicking below:



Leave a Reply