The Promise (Poetry)

He is the prince who does not come —
the promise on the wind
that sighs a seductive mythology —
a comforting song
that someday everything will be all right —
we will escape the things
we’ve brought upon ourselves —
we stare out of the window — hopeful
we’ll be rescued just in time.

Years go by and we hang on —
cling to our belief in spite
of the dark clouds that mass —
blot out the sun.
Age chips away at faith — undoes
all certainty — doubt takes root
and thrusts down deep — the tower tilts —
the white-walled castle we once built
to keep our dreams safe.

And whispering his name like
an enchantment
to still the thrashing forest of our fears
has lost its power to charm —
the wait has been too long —
the words grown thin with over-telling
and if he ever hears those urgent prayers
he does not ride in answer —
the promise is denied.