Too little, too late?

Trust
It’s a delicate matter, this matter of trust:
for, fragile, trust takes extra care ~
walk aware and thoughtful or it
will not survive this hardened world, our
calloused words, our offhand casual lies,
messages left unsaid; decisions, undecided.
 
The hurt, or harm, we conspire toward ~
we conscript in the name of love ~
undermines, traps and destroys our
delicate thread of trust.  And, surely,
binds our own hearts and souls to a
kind of limbo, where love cannot dwell.
 
For how can love, any love, live or grow
where trust holds no favour ~ no value?
It is the small, incipient, spur of the moment lies, the
self-involved centering of ego ~ that unguarded
shift away from harmony into pretense:
being what and whom we can never be ~ our
refusal to drop facades, and eventually, the
sounding and suffocation of trust, which
bleeds from our mouths, hung on the heart of our words.
 
Yes, a delicate matter, this matter of Trust.
 
 
 
 
7-2017/7-2020
By Barbara Helvey Hughes