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.