The Hammer Behind Reality's Back

I have some friends who have been making terrible choices, of late, and they're impacting how we do what we do, when we do it and whom we do it with. I know I can't fix it--I can't even smack some sense into their heads--because I know we all have to learn what we learn through our own successes and fall flat on our faces failures, but to do so, we must have enough confidence, fear and respect to admit the truth, especially when we know that dreadful hammer will fall... and fall hard into our guts, upon our heads and crush our hearts. 

I imagine the dichotomy:
My mistake sitting with us
As I speak to opposing states of you.
Because I learned, again—
And maybe I will learn this time—
That which I should already know:
I cannot solely love today,
The woman she will be tomorrow.

This advice I now hand to you—
These Herculean opposites of you,
The physics of your pendulum—
Intoxication may relieve sobriety's guilt,
But the symptom is far from the cure.
This dramatic virus that eats your soul
And causes you to wring and pace
Is for love, you say,
Which would be noble…
If true.

Love is creation;
Two trusting forces that cannot do apart,
What they can accomplish together.

This love you claim
Slops Joes on a plate—
Three full squares, Sir—
Each and every day,
And masks the expiration date
Of the peppery ire that appears unexpectedly and often,
Completely irrational and terribly fierce.

This is not love's form.

The fool with false confidence,
Hiding his guilt and insecurity,
Rafts a rapid river toward Conrad's dark heart.

Contrary to common belief
White lines do not mark the way,
Only tempt suspended disbelief,
That this is the life you want,
That this is as good as it gets,
That this is your “one” dream.

Someday your lesson will be learned—
By chance or by purpose—
When the inebriated dream
Pulls the key and opens the door
To the hammer behind reality’s back,
And the sound of glass under your feet
Brings awareness to the (ass) end of your grace.

An inflection point in life—
For some it never comes,
For others an unexpected guest,
For a few a conscious choice—
When you will understand:
Actions have consequences.
When the “I’m” is forever severed
From the rest of “maturity,”
And, by choice,
You no longer try to get away with it,
But bask and burn in all you are:
Loved, frustrated and fucked,
To hope for forgiveness,
Now brave enough to truly apologize
In the republic of your immediate public,
And accept our choice
Should it exclude you,
And live with the choice
That true love eternally demands…
Or damns.