Saturday, November 29, 2025

Not a Fool for Promises

Two smiling men shaking hands

 "Promises, Promises" - Bahamas AI Art
 ©A. Derek Catalano
 
 

Not a Fool for Promises


You build a castle in the air, a fortress made of breath,
And swear that it will stand its ground until the day of death.
You paint a vista for my eyes of colors bright and bold,
And spin the straw of future days into a thread of gold.
But I have watched the colors fade and seen the castle fall,
For words are only mortar when there is no stone at all.
I hear the rhythm of your speech, the cadence and the rhyme,
But I am not a fool who waits upon the shelf of time.

A promise is a comfort to a fool, or so they say,
A warm and heavy blanket used to hide the cold of day.
It soothes the anxious mind a while, it calms the restless heart,
But comfort turns to bitterness when realities depart.
For I have seen the gap between the spoken and the true,
The chasm where the "will be" dies and never turns to "do."
So do not try to dazzle me with visions of the prize,
I see the calculation in the corner of your eyes.

Consider first the lover’s vow, the holiest of lies,
Whispered in the heat of night beneath the starry skies.
"Forever" is a mighty word, too heavy for the tongue,
A song of infinite design that simply can't be sung.
We stand before the altar steps, the witness and the priest,
And promise that our love will last 'til breathing has surceased.
But rings are made of metal cold, and flesh is weak and frail,
And promises of passion are the first of all to fail.
The "sickness and the health" become a burden and a bore,
When the promise of the honeymoon walks out the open door.
I will not bank on "always" when the "now" is slipping by,
A marriage built on words alone is destined just to die.

Then look towards the podium, where leaders take the stage,
To sell a new utopia, to turn the history page.
They promise roads of silver and a sky of endless blue,
They swear to fix the broken things and make the old ways new.
"Lower taxes for the working man," "A job for every hand,"
They shout the slogans loud and clear across the waiting land.
We cast our votes like pennies in a quiet wishing well,
But wishes buy us nothing when the leaders start to sell.
The infrastructure crumbles while they argue in the hall,
For political commitment is the frailest bond of all.
They shake the hands of babies and they smile for the press,
Then leave the trusting voter to clean up the bloody mess.
I am no fool for ballots cast on wings of hollow hope,
I will not hang my future on a politician’s rope.

There are promises of fortune, of the wealth that's coming soon,
"Just sign the dotted line," they say, "we’ll give to you the moon."
The schemes of quick advancement, the investment largely vague,
That spreads among the desperate like a silent, greedy plague.
"Trust me," says the salesman with the polished, shiny shoe,
"This opportunity is rare, and tailored just for you."
But math is cold and merciless, and numbers do not lie,
While promises are Phantoms that just glitter and fly by.
I will not be the bag-holder for dreams that don't exist,
I’ve learned to feel the solid ground and navigate the mist.

And what of small domestic lies? The "I will change my ways,"
The addict’s sworn repentance in the thick of hazy days?
The friend who says "I’ll pay you back," the check is in the mail,
The repeated, tiny treacheries that make the spirit pale.
You say you'll do the dishes, or you say you'll fix the gate,
But action is the only thing that carries any weight.
"I promise I will be there," but the chair remains unfilled,
And with every broken contract, all my charity is killed.

Some promises are realistic, simple things to keep,
Like sowing seeds in springtime for the harvest you will reap.
But even these I view askance, with skeptical critique,
For even honest plans can fail when willpower is weak.
And promises impossible? The scams that defy fate?
"I'll make you rich forever," or "I'll wipe away the hate."
To believe within these fantasies requires a closed-shut eye,
A willingness to swallow down the sweet and sugar’d lie.

A promise creates waiting, it creates a pause in life,
It dulls the edge of urgency, it blunts the distinct knife.
It makes us passive passengers who wait simply to receive,
Because we found it easier to sit and to believe.
But I am distinct motion, I am kinetic and awake,
I judge a man by what he gives, not what he vows to take.
Don't tell me of the mansion you intend to build next year,
Show me the hammer in your hand, show me the blueprint clear.

You take me for a cynic? No, I’m simply well-advised,
I’ve seen the noble intentions that were never realized.
I’ve felt the sting of disappointment sink into the bone,
And learned that he who walks the path must often walk alone.
So keep your future tense in check, your verbs of "shall" and "will,"
And give to me the present tense, the distinct and the still.
I do not need a pledge of faith to know where I should stand,
I need the truth of distinct deeds, a callous on the hand.

I am no vessel for your words, no harbor for your deceit,
I will not lay my dignity beneath your marching feet.
A promise is a comfort to a fool, this much is true,
But I have woken from the dream, and I am done with you.
Do not mistake my silence for a quiet, blind consent,
I’m calculating cost and yield, and where the time was spent.
Save your breath for cooling soup, or whistling in the dark,
I’m not a fool for promises; I judge you by your mark.
 
 
 ©A. Derek Catalano/Gemini
 
Related poem: All Is Not Gold
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