Jailhouse Promises

jailhouse promises carrying a mix of hope that comes with words spoken behind bars

Behind steel nights and concrete days,
he swore his love in a thousand ways—
soft words penned in trembling ink,
promises louder than he dared to speak.

He said “When I’m out, I’ll be better, you’ll see,
no more running on fumes, no more breaking you and me.
I’ll be the man you prayed for when the world felt cold,
I’ll come home steady, loyal, and bold.”

But jailhouse promises glow like sparks in the dark—
bright for a second, then gone in a heartbeat’s arc.
They soothe the hurt, they stitch up pain,
but they fall apart easy when the outside rains.

Still, you held on, hoping time might prove
that a wounded man can someday choose
truth over trouble, love over fear,
hope over the voices whispering in his ear.

Yet freedom came knocking, and so did the past,
and those jailhouse vows couldn’t seem to last.
Chains break easy when they’re made of words,
and dreams fall quiet when they go unheard.

But you, with all your fire, you learned this one thing:
your worth isn’t measured by any promise he brings.
You walked from the echoes, from the bars in his mind—
because real love doesn’t lock you up.
Real love sets you free in time.