Just a Pattern

Ferocious
facing facts that point faults
like hidden agendas
of war against yourself.

The silence catapults
the last truth here.

The position I stand now is familiar
too familiar,
blame it on my memory.

Distant and an overwhelming urge to be consistent.
In the love I give.

Compared to what I receive,
only a hand full.

only a chosen few.

I promised the faces I place faith in that
I will stop
pretending that the past is not real.