Ultimate Betrayal
The Inevitable Turn
The seed of trust, a fragile, velvet thing,
Is planted deep in spring.
It climbs the light on slender, hopeful stem,
Adorned with promised diadem.
It thrives on faith, on sun of pure intent,
A life on borrowed scent.
But watch the season; mark the turning year.
The sky grows cold and clear.
The hand that nurtured, soon must learn to prune,
Beneath the bitter moon.
The loving shelter cracks, a faulting line,
In architecture of design.
Betrayal isn't malice, sharp and swift;
It is the final, necessary gift.
The child must leave the nest to find the air,
Leaving a vacant, echoing prayer.
The idol forged of pure and steadfast gold,
Must prove too heavy for the hands to hold.
For what is life but turning on the past?
The futures built that couldn't ever last.
The body fails the spirit, keen and bright;
The day itself surrenders to the night.
The life we love, we ultimately lose,
And from that loss, a new beginning brews.
So take the wound, the sting, the sudden chill,
The breaking of the ever-promised will.
It is the scythe that clears the aging ground,
A silent, cyclic, unforgiving sound.
The ultimate betrayal that we find,
Is just the engine driving all mankind.
The end must eat the start to make the space,
And sorrow sets the pace.
A cycle etched in stone, forever true:
The old must always yield to the new.
The promise broken, is the seed released,
The ultimate turn of the Circle's Feast.
What aspect of this "ultimate betrayal" resonates most with you—is it the personal, the existential, or perhaps the biological/natural?
