In the quiet pulse of every heartbeat lies a profound inheritance — not merely biological, but sacred. The Blood In Our Veins is a spiritual ballad that calls us to awaken to this truth: the blood flowing within us is a living testament, a divine loan passed down through countless generations of travelers, climbers, sufferers, and dreamers.

It carries the echoes of their journeys — the color of their eyes, the strength of their frames, the stories etched into their very being — and challenges us to recognize it as far more than flesh and bone.

At its heart, the poem weaves together ancestral reverence with timeless biblical wisdom. It reminds us of Eden’s Tree of Life and the serpent’s deception, contrasting humanity’s fall with our God-given opportunity to “stand as tall,” grow a moral spine, and choose redemption over recurring sin. The blood becomes both gift and gauge — a measure of the gold in our souls, weighed against pride, fear, and distraction. We are urged to honor our mothers and fathers, remember our God-given identities, and walk deliberately rather than wander in blame or regret.

This is not a gentle lullaby, but a stirring exhortation: life is not meant for aimless sinning or passive drifting, but for purposeful trotting toward home — back to the Creator who bestowed this blood upon us. Through its rhythmic cadence, the poem invites reflection on free will, legacy, and ultimate accountability. It asks each reader: How will you honor the blood that runs through you? Will you write a story of glory, or let the dust of forgotten roads cover your path?

May these verses stir your spirit, quicken your steps, and deepen your gratitude for the sacred current that connects past, present, and the eternal throne ahead.

The Blood In Our Veins…

There’s blood that runs through veins in you, which came from those who sprinkled clues ‘bout eyes be brown, green or blue, and body type for height, or color be as black or white.

As begotten, forgotten, from blood in veins, was bestowed by those who traveled plains, and walked and climbed to mountain tops, who now enjoy engaging talks.

This blood I speak, in words discrete, responds to nerves and bones in feet, to walk the girth of earth from birth, in pride of name once given, or reach the end’s last breath at death, exampled by one’s sinning!

All should stop at what’s received allotted, and come to know of blood that’s clotted, amongst the trunk of tree as yea, and who before gave seed for thee.

The Tree of Life was once device that stole the soul from paradise, and from reception of deception, mankind’s divine allowed refined to aid thy growing of a spine.

Unlike the serpent’s slithered crawl that caused mankind to take a fall, we’re given chance to stand as tall,
be counted in the end as friend, or lose the chance from loss to sins.

From push and shove, our God above allows abundance for life’s descendants, to walk alone find our way home,
and maybe join him on his throne.

Just what abides or runs and hides will measure weight of gold in soul, or fall from grace in pride’s disgrace
that kicks more dirt upon one’s face.

In freedom’s choice we speak in voice of what we see in being free, yet fail to see way clear my dear, or catch a glimpse of souls be feared!

The scale that fails from choice prevails, too often blows toward wind in sails, then tact’s to turn from light’s discerns just closes eyes for all concerns.

In life bestowed we’ll come to know ‘bout pain and suffer while on the go, yet negates begats through heaven’s gate shall seal one’s name in chance of fate.

Respecting God’s gifting of the blood that all be pumping, in veins now named, for those who’d came, long before yea!

Give honor to blood that’s deserving, ‘cus there’s been a many already who’d suffered a plenty, of discomforts abound, in long faces in frowns.

Remember thy gender, God given as tender, honor thy Mother and Father in slumber, never forget who rivals the Bible, while walking both to and fro on the go!

For life has been given, not meant for the sinning, but begotten for trotting escaping the rotting, and seeing way clear, to our God while in fear!

Thus in writing one’s story most likely ‘bout glory, we shan’t be blaming the smothers that coming from others,
nor the twist and turns on the road of encumbers.

‘Cus a many had traveled, barefoot in loose gravel, so that yea may unravel the mysteries while writing your owned history, ‘bout the who is the who, that’s inside of the you!

Not to be shaming the name, that was gifted as fame, and now runs through your veins, for taking the reins of one chance at a life, and eventually marrying husband or wife.

So mount upon a fine horse, and head in due course, remembering that blood that’s on loan, to afford us a chance in all circumstance, to help gallop our way back home…

Michael Chaffee

5-13-26