A Promise I made, to my other Half,
On the under-side, of the pillow,
So often turned, way past the half,
A heart was split, in to two best friends.

All the letters, that failed to deliver,
Except the first two, Homeless Ecstasy,
Count to ten, and one blows up,
Or count to five, and one suffers Spring.

But at no point, did they consider,
The one that turned – the one that burned,
The one that learned – a lesson not taught,
Which one hid, and which one sought?

Both fighters fought but both fighters fought,
Both broke the wall and stood face to face,
Both were born from a seed, in the mud of war,
Both grew separate lives, above and below.

Stemming from, the pressure to flower,
The martyr was tricked, for the shot at power,
So, when half became one, one was not made,
When half became one, half halved again.

A Promise I made to myself one night,
Resulted In the pursuit of a master-built plan,
A fate which caused me to lose my sight,
Resulted in the death, of a man.