Promise

There is so much held in promise

          You are promised
          You show promise
          You must promise
          You have promised

I hold promise

But the promise that concerns is the one made me

The one
       never formal
                 but there
                       repeated and
                                     insinuated and
   
                                                      gone

        never realized

I was told
If I just

          buckle down
          study hard
          achieve more
          do well
          finish assignments
          get As
          get degrees

It would be there

          Future
          Success
          Security
          Career
          Job

It would be there

I was told

I was promised

Linked While Torn

I finally finished is today!  This is a continuation of the series of poems I started with Beautifully Broken.  Like that one, this is another 3-part sonnet.  And again, Blogger is being poopy about formatting.  Imagine the "Torn to Pieces" section is flush on the left side.  And that there is only one line of space between the title and the body.



Linked while Being     Torn to Pieces


Beauty cannot              triumph always 
stay untarnished          be whole and gold
forever, yet we              travel this road
together as                    the steady stays
masts and ropes           until it hazes
-crack- will be torn      where this now old
break burns my            eye, glazes, folds
soul, so charring          shuts out the blaze
becomes scarring         that spreads without
and now I lose             control and when
what I wanted             extinguished, what
was always mine          dissolves, the clout
it's no longer                carried within
mine -never was-         never could be.

Beautifully Broken

Beautifully                              Broken

There is wonder                        but I

don’t think there is                    here or

not, knotted and                       nowhere

tied into strings                         strung high

but then it slips                         no lie,

from grasp into                         a scare

unknown unseen                       unaware

communion in                           to sky-

line with some for                      -ward

seeing what is                           broken

down and outted                        into

myself and our                           shards of

particular                                   token

formed together                         beauty.

*