In Which A Warning Is Whispered

Be careful, oh, if you ask for your space,
For those who really love you will accede
To your request, e'en though more than a trace
Of pain is theirs. Real love gives what you need
If it trusts in your word. So thus to me
It's happened: earnestly a plea is made,
And earnestly believed and honored, see,
Despite the private tears. And as I'm bade,
I've backed off, promised so to calmly wait,
And, waiting, tried to go about my days
With bravery, then suddenly -- too late --
I find I've lost what most I'd deeply praised.
The accusation's laid down at my door:
Desertion and indifference, the score.

In Which I Muse On "Silent Communication"

An eyebrow twitch, a slump, can say so much,
As can a tone of voice, a squint, a moue.
But only if one sees it and, as such,
Has grown up watching for this kind of clue.
Do fluent texters even know they miss
Ironic looks or hostile postures when
They tune out conversations "to get this
One message" in a meeting? This has been
Cast in the Wall Street Journal, just today,
As something Generation Y must learn
To deal with, but I'm not so quick to say
That it's just "those durn kids" worth our concern
In this regard. Attention is sliced thin
In everybody's life. Look ye within.