Promise--a poem

[lunesque]

I.

I have heard this once--
no, a thousand times before--
this is as a memory of childhood;
a story painted in shapes against the wall,
a shadow play performed in dying light.

II.

Once upon a time, I was music
played for your pleasure,
a subject for your lonely kingdom.
The song is jaded now, my darling;
the strings are worn and untuned,
warped in the moments of 'never' and 'what could have been.'
If I could, I'd play those songs again for you--
but there is other music now,
and other kingdoms to rule.

III.

I stand here on the edge of the unknown,
a puppet with frayed and tangled strings,
the tattered bride of false promises,
a remnant of myself.
Oh, yes, I have heard this before--
in the broken halls of yesterday,
where I strained to hear your footsteps...
waiting, waiting,
until I became a victim of my own silence.

But even fools learn in the end,
even I,
at times the greatest fool of all.
You promise many things, my dear--
but your words
are full of sound and fury,
signifying nothing.