The Beginning

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.

The Coming

Insecurity is not at all flattering:
It reeks of imagined loss and current fear;
The former hasn’t happened quite yet;
The latter forgets all who hold you dear.

The night brings it back,
When lovers snore and sleep;
And all you do is gaze into the dark,
Wondering if it’s truly that deep.

Anxiety may follow suit and soon –
But –

You ejaculate in your hand!

A calm replaces the tumult
And fear is no longer that grand.

Loss still remains. So you bear it;
You recall you have borne it before!
You understand you can and will bear it,
Even if life makes it erupt once more.

Your Promises

All of your promises have a shelf life.
There is no chance any of them shall stick.
You speak them to merely stop present strife;
Once that is done, their purpose seeks death quick.

Your promises are very lightly made.
You do not think of them as forever.
They are fake light that only causes shade,
Without the wherewithal to endeavour.

I wish you understood what vows must be;
They are the parents of hope and trust;
Your mind can’t grasp what it cannot see;
And all we end up with is useless dust.

I know this now and all my hope lies dead;
There is nothing now to be heard or said.