“Always” lasts for a season.
Autumn says it; but so does spring,
“Always” comes with a reason,
With hope set in a diamond ring.
Written by idiots who rhyme;
Preachers laud it as divine;
It seems family to Father Time.
It seems fair. It seems sublime.
It’s encoded in word and thought,
“Mother”, “sister”, “brother”, “lover”.
At a tuppence, “always” is bought
And then given to another.
It starts with little things:
A shout in a conversation,
A caress shrugged off,
A turning away in sleep,
Or a small promise
One forgot to keep.
It starts small:
A forgotten holiday,
Or a hug once a day,
A letter never written,
Or a word one needed to say.
A refusal to touch
After all,
Speaks more than words
By not sleeping much.
It starts quietly:
No great feeling of loss,
Just a tingling warning,
A squinting of the eye,
The littlest lie,
And then there is
Destiny’s pulling back,
As it starts to die.
I keep giving of love and remain alone;
Either awake at night or with fears.
I learnt much of pain; it comes now by rote
And has quite lost all its share of tears.
The love I give is all consuming.
It comes from within a unique need.
If I am willing to be consumed myself,
How in hell does it classify as greed?
The words I write now have been written.
The pain I am in has been felt.
It feels like my men are on strange repeat.
The cards each deals have been dealt.
The love I have just needs to be seen;
But those I love choose others over me;
And I can’t keep giving up myself –
I must have an end to hope’s tragedy.
I think of love as forever and it hurts.
Each time it brings with it the freshest pain.
As each time my gifts and heart shatter,
I lie to myself and say never ever again.
Hearts Still Care 
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