• I

    The way is clear
    He lays his promises out
    Around my feet
    Like gifts.
    There aren't many...
    But they're the only ones I've known.

    But when I go to pick them up,
    He stops me
    And instead,
    Crushes them underfoot.
    Shrapnel flies,
    Leaving slight,
    Tiny wounds.
    And I stand,
    Alone,
    Surrounded by the fragments.

    II

    Along comes another.
    He steps carefully over the shards,
    Sparing himself the pain I've felt.
    He lays his promises,
    Twice as many,
    Atop the fragments.
    These gifts seem
    Beautiful...
    Pure...
    Plentiful...

    But when I go to pick them up,
    He stops me
    And instead,
    Throws them,
    Violently,
    In the direction of my barely healed body,
    Leaving me broken and battered.
    And I fall,
    Alone,
    Surrounded by the fragments.

    III

    A third appears.
    He walks,
    With bare feet,
    On the shards of broken promises,
    Sharing my pain.
    He lays his promises
    Atop the fragments.
    His gifts are modest,
    Yet somehow,
    Glow
    With unfathomable beauty.

    But when I go to pick them up,
    He stops me
    And instead,
    Softly touches his lips to mine.
    Suddenly,
    The shards vanish,
    My wounds heal,
    And the scars disappear,
    As if they had never been.
    He picks up the gifts,
    Sets them gently in my arms,
    And we stand,
    Together,
    Surrounded by each other.