I can’t promise you
cloudless skies
continual bliss
or thornless rose gardens. . .
I can’t promise you
painless days
tearless nights
or even endless passion
for I’ve already promised you
truth . . .
I can’t promise you
the stuff
movies and romance novels
are made of . . .
momentary wishes
dreams come true . . .
or the thrill of a lifetime . . .
for I’ve already
promised you reality . . ,
I can’t promise you
world fortunes
conquered empires
or trips on the moon . . .
for I’ve already promised you
all that I have . . .
I can’t promise you
answers for every question
freedom from fear
or a brand-new day . . .
because promises of everything
usually add up to nothing . . .
and I’ve already promised
not to make promises
I can’t keep . . .
therefore . . .
all I can promise you
is me . . .
--an excerpt from What to Do Until Love Finds You...