Half Heart

My love, a bitter heart is not what you deserve
All my love is what you deserve, and so I vow
that all my love, and only all, is what you'll have
No sighs of former memories, not half my heart
My love, here I promise you to catch my tongue
I've had plenty of time to heal, and here I feel
it is time to let myself realize, I have been set free
I am free of all these woes - it's time for me to move
You set my heart alight with your love, soaring!
My desire to live was magnified and multiplied
I loved you as I was meant to love, but fear?
This fear that I would lose you was set upon me
There is no place for such a fear, if I love you-
but only if I love you with my all, as I should.
So, my love, you with whom I walk in dreams
Here is my heart. I set myself bare before you
Here I start afresh. My heart is clean and new
The slate is blank, and only my love for you
is written upon my heart. You have my all <3

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Recycled Monotony

 
Something about that dull repetition of habit
the ritual of the same day to day to day to day...
Broke my heart into pieces, I couldn't be, no,
I could never stand to be tamed with the world.
What if my thorns were ever broken off again?
I couldn't stand the pain of being broken down,
being chained, tied down in colorless routine,
in a colorless world filled with identical grey suits

But now my thorns grow back as I break free
You can't fight fate, break me of my destiny!
I won't be confined to mundane convention--
My life is meant for so much more than that
I'll watch from afar as each one of you regress-
fall into the monotony of recycled conversation
from which you'll lapse into soporific silence...
O Suffocating end, memories of old thorns forgot

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Facade

A burden of secrets
is not a life I care for
It seems such a facade
is all too common.
A look, a smirk
a motive hidden
all behind a smile
and sweet guile.
It seems this mask
this facade has become
the quotidian standard
to this American life.
It seems everyone
has a secret, their purpose
and hides the wit
so used to tear one down.
Every mask has another.
Frivolous layers to deceive
A voice for each acquaintance
and a style for each smile.
The snark and wit
have been lost
to generations trained
only in mischief,
in betrayal and want.
How petty the games
How cutthroat the lives.
Loyalty is relative.
Honesty is destroyed
and trust is lost.
Play the game,
get what you want,
then play again
so you don't get caught.

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Indulgent

Call me indulgent,
if you must, but
it seems that love
can be nothing less.
A lover cannot keep
from indulging in such
a thing as his lovers'
heart, his very desire.
Love is indulgent
by its very nature.
A smooth, constant
current - flowing
through the heart.
It is ungraspable,
and a thing that longs
to be spoken of,
indulged in, tended to.
A heart would grow
weary. tired. and ache
if only it were to try
to keep its love
to itself. It would
burst, if kept a secret.
Hearts can only keep
love as a secret, for
so long - before the
very essence spills out,
the heart bursting
as love bubbles in
overabundance.
So my dear, yes,
do not chide me-
for a lover in love
cannot help to revel
in the pleasure love
brings. A lover may
seem self-indulgent,
but is rather indulging
in the other, and is
carried away on the
high of having it all
to keep it for himself.

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Destiny and Distance

Such span of place and time
has made my heart weary
Nay, not weary of love
But weary with love
My love! how I long to be
close to you just now
close again, forever more
I never knew my heart
could grow weary
for loving too much
- without release!
But at long last
I grow weary of being
unable to love you
just as I am meant.
How harsh! How cruel!
For destiny to wait til
such long last - and then
to hold us prisoners
of love and distance.
I would give it all
to be with the one who
loves me as no other can
and none before ever has.

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Raconteur

A soft rising and falling
a lull in my breath, my
lashes flit as moth wings
as I listen to the sound
of twisted tales' songs.
Your voice ripples soft as
stories painting themselves
Your voice mellifluous,
dripping as though with
honey, folding my mind,
twisting my imagination
all round your illusive tales.
It was unreal to have found
you - such a dearth of your
kind, of your caliber! I am
loath to lose you, to ever
let you go. You who limn
a poetic photograph of my
less-than-lucid dreaming life.
Wherefore would you stop
spinning tales of wonder
for my eyes to dream? No,
mon amour, never stop.
We can spin our world, as
in lucid dreams, just as we
like. Our love came out of
nothing, and yet, so strong.
Tell me again. Per Aspera
Ad Astra. No, never let me
forget it. But for now, let
me hold you so close. Your
stories woven so soft, they
envelop me in your hearts
warmth as we drift to dreams.

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010