Thursday, September 16, 2010


(In which I risk . . . and rise.)


I hate promises
uttered with a smile
or an intent gaze stretching to the future.
I hate promises
of circles and hearts and infinity;
of cold white,
of scented orange,
of blazing yellow
and of cool green.

I hate promises sang with songs
and strings and beats and dances.
I hate promises witnessed
by the proverbial moon and stars
or by the four mundane walls.
I hate promises locked in clasped hands
and assured of tears that never will fall.
It’s the self-same tears that shall wash them.
I hate promises and bodies
intertwined in embrace
then later divided by a push and a hiss.

I hate these.
And you know it.

Now should I hate you for promising
promises with a voice as beautiful as fire
and a soul equally flammable as mine?
Should I resist and defend,
build a wall and hide?
Or should I listen and cry,
let all the hatred go,
the coldness thaw,
and my love for you overflow?

You know what I did.

© September 12, 2010
2:40 PM