The Anticlimactic

A seventeen year quest
A battle waged—
To capture some semblance of his humanity
His truth or his darkness
And of course, his blinding light
A whimper of a storm
An impersonal gesture is all
That weaves the threads now
Devoid of the desire to entertain
This insane idea of a palpable
A tangible—
Thing that could prove the connection is real—
He sees me
He knows me
But his emptiness fills me
And I am forced to surrender
To the cavernous depth of this despicable nowhere
I see you dear one
A lifetime gone
You see me
And don’t remember the promise
Scrawled over a sweaty supple form
Or Won’t.