Present

Tell me, what is in your hand?

A paper? A locket? Or a chain?

A key? A pin? A heart?

A Knife, blood, honor, or regret?

An Order? A soundbite? A Soul?

"No" you say, "None of that."

"A Name."--A name whispered in corners,

In halls, and in wards,

On deathbeds, love-nests, and murderers doors.

He is called as the rain pours,

As the thunder crashes,

And lightning flashes.

He is called as the waves churn,

As Boys go out

And men come back.

His name is on the tips of my fingers,

and He is alive.

God is Alive.