The Harvest of Promise

What does the promise look like? Well, I see it in my mind's eye,

Like a handed-down, beyond precious gem,

Where longing songs of freedom are replaced with lullabies,

Where were once tattered souls and bleeding hands become the promised hands, safe and smooth,

'All men are created equal' is not a mantra,

Bleeding harvests of tears became fall festivals under full moons,

The promise is to look back at segregation and laugh in its face,

The promise that was held by a thread was bruised by whips, broken backs, and chains,

The promise is not black and white, but a mix of every race.

But the dream, the promise, is no longer a plea,

The harvest has become good news,

As the cries of the slaves fade, never forget the song of the freed

The promise, so long as we breathe, lives on in you and me,

So let us rise and live as a "nation living out the true meaning of its creed."