The Promise

The Promise

It's an old promise, to be sure; made when I was young and pure of heart, with intensity and fervor and lived each word right from the start.
And, for my part, I kept my vow and keep it still.
I wonder now, wistfully, if I must live within a cold and hollow place until I die.
I will because I'm proud and stoic too, I don't deny.
Nor can I wound the one who holds me here, unconsciously restrains me here....year upon empty year.
But, oh, the memories are bright and clear and filled with love and laughter,
And each one, as treasured as a drop of gold, still brings pleasure every time retold.
When did they go away, the love, the warmth, the passion?
A slow trickle, like glistening grains of sand held soft between the palms of my hands.
I didn't notice for a while, the absence of the glowing smile; so occupied was I with fretting and with care.
And yet the warmth did seep away and the passion go astray.
Ah, life is seldom fair.
And here am I, self pity falling from my eyes as salty tears.
Shall I break free and go adventuring once more?
The seductive call of romance is so clear.
And I reach for it so eagerly, yet pull back in fear.
How can I break my solemn word to one so dear?
I briefly close my eyes, my thoughts to clear,
And return now to my solitude...I shall endure.
It's an old promise, to be sure.....

The Genie