Your promise.

Like the beauty of a word on my tongue,
Or sun underneath my tone,
Bathed in the circumstance of hope,
Believed and full and true.

Like the feeling of strength of solid ground beneath my feet,
Or newness wrapped softly in surprise,
Full up with the wonderment of a brand new day,
Trusted and still, overwhelmingly fey.

Like the stillness of some crisp winter's night,
Or a fresh, whole moon,
Like a beautiful time, gone all to soon,
Missed and loved for the weight of your truth.

Like the weightlessness of waters,
Or wisps of dandelion petals in summer's air,
Cornered ease and hopeful ruminations,
Easy and light and truly pure.

Like the best vintage of a red wine,
Or ancient scenes of ruins,
Tragically beautiful and perfectly flawed,
I could only sit and marvel in some new/fangled awe.

Your truth, your wholeness
Displayed out for me,
In some solid form,
Like an unmoving, deep-rooted tree.

Your promise, of life, of love
Splayed unbearably wide,
Covering all that surrounds me,
Breathing a new life, a new way into my whole world.

Jason Christopher Johnson
August 10, 2012