Promised Land by Abby Bean

The weaker, the weakest.

We left our hearts in Egypt.

Our sandals encrusted with

Blood, and dust,

our hope with rust.

Our faith the kind

That shapes minerals into idols,

Melts gold into mold,

strikes rocks, and holds

its tongue.

Our wonder is our worship,

And our doubt shouts

From the lips of our enemies.

We close our eyes to remember

The living burning –

Open and realize our turning

Away.

Our wander is our war

For the Promised Land.