When scavenging through the rubble of your life, 
don't look to love for hope. 
For all but consistency can be found amidst those stones. 

One in ten will love you:
That one you will lose,

Another will loathe you: 
And that one you shall crave,

Another shall desire you:
But miles from you she'll be,

And at the coast's endless waters you will gaze. 
You'll look for hope between the ripples, 
And to life beneath the blue. 
You'll wait eternally,
For the passing glance
Of a long dead light-house:
Idle beneath an apathetic moon.

One in ten might have lied:
And on that thought you linger far too long,

Drained of life and scarred for good:
You find yourself after the one ignored you. 

So, the next one- you'll ignore them too: ignorant of the potential of what could be. 

And the ocean's endless spirals you will scour. 
You'll search for meaning in the tide:
For signs of warmth amidst its cold. 
And nought but the stars
Are by your side, 
As your arm yearns only
For a shoulder to hold. 

One in ten was but a friend
And that vexed you to no end. 

Another was an illusion:
The love of a glance. 

And somewhere in between, 
One was nothing but a meaningless romance. 

Yet when no glance
Comes from the lighthouse, 
And life is nowhere
To be found beneath the blue;
When the ripples yield 
Nought but longing
And the tide 
Nought but yearning;
When the stars: your only friends, 
Dim with the parting
of the moon;

Then, 
And only then, 
Will it dawn on you: 

After all your toil, 
After the heartache and the longing, 

The tenth shall be the soil.