Dissolution of Hopes

Of certain things I’m sure-

without certainty, of course;

all love loses,

whether to hatred, disdain, or simply time;

we’re more than our mistakes, but not too much;

and the dissolve is never truly as satisfying

as you’d once swore it would be.

Eight years ago you vowed you knew,

and had it all.

Picturing a future and a fortune;

gray, but content in love.

Two years of turmoil,

borrowed anger, wretched war,

and you’re no closer to happiness

than the first day You were.

Heartbreak, painstakingly catastrophic.

You want to be whole-

brain urging you with caution.

Battle-torn fields

and tiny sullen eyes

looking to you for hope,

and you have none left to give away.