Strength

I could invoke the past, and if I do
The truth will show its face here, warningly,
As if to undermine sobriety.
I drink too much, thinking too much of you,
And you, grown violent, start drinking, too,
As though some sort of makeshift ecstasy
Will turn up in the dregs. It's misery,
As both of us will know, before we're through.

What happened, then, love? Did we meet too late
For anything to work right? Was it wrong
To choose the words of a romantic song
As our delusion? Could we still blame fate
For all this grief, or underestimate
The graceless posturing that keeps us strong?