Nothing Left to Say When Creativity Goes Away

What is it I'm supposed to say?
When words elude me
when images slip away?
What is it I'm supposed to do,
when creativity dwindles
and the world fails to give hope
Where did the world go
in which I spent endless hours,
the world I spent dreaming up?
That world I imagined seems so far
Work has separated me from myself
I know not who I am
nor where I am at home
The place I called my own
has slipped away; pushed aside
by corporate monsters who crush
and curse ingenuity, innovation
The retail villainy that prides itself
on sameness, breaking individuals
of themselves though it's no disease.

So what can I do?
What is there left to say?
These words evaded me too long
The place I was at home in my mind
fades away, the glimmer of hope dashed.
What is it I'm supposed to say?
I give you a fortnight, no more.
I give you the smallest bit of my soul
and no more.
Oh corporate mongrels,
you cannot steal my spirit,
I remove myself from your pit.
I give you but a fortnight, no more.
This is my farewell, my revelry
My song will return to my mouth
once your hands are loose from round my neck
and my images no more will slip away!

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2011

Disillusioned Romantic

Romantics swing gently through the night

drifting between stars and dancing across the moon

the glide into dawn, kissing, setting with the sun

Hearts that flutter and swear by the night sky,

that brandish their love as swords, and promise hearts

Souls are promised, words and bands of gold are exchanged

What is all this, done in vain?

The snow we stood in, and swore our hearts

is the same snow that melted around us

as our foresworn hearts stained it red

Romantics though we are, what can words promise?

Every romantic says the same thing

a thousand times over. Swearing to give the moon,

to cut down a thousand men to have my heart

but in the end, its promised to a hundred more girls

What makes any other girls different from me?

Why should I believe any one mans promises

than any other? are they not all the same?

They would give the world to a beauty

that they laid their eyes on. But once she's gone

it's onto the next beauty, swearing the self-same

I would cross the seven seas, I would steal the sun

I would be for you all that your heart could desire!

What are these words that a stricken son utters?!

How can I trust such words I've repeated before

in such fervency and honesty, I must admit.

I never spoke untruths when I spake such words

but I feel they've been repeated far too often

by far too many a fool to mean anything at all

I've loved and lost. I've loved ghosts of men that

never actually were. What shadows have I loved!
So were it really love at all? Or weren't it a lie?

This romantic suddenly finds all the solace of love

to be so cold, is love truly still alive and well?

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2011

It's only broken...

How strange it is
after all these years
we still carry regrets,
all our doubts, our fears
All the things that ached
that broke & brought tears
How odd that we can't let go
just when we think we forgot
we realize that we've only held on
stronger than we ever have before

How strange it is
that we walk about
bearing heavy burdens
bulky weights held so close
to our heart, dragged by chains
All the things we could never let go
Suddenly they're bound tightly around us
We can't let it down. We can't forgive
but how we need to. We hate more than before
We're convinced we hate, but really we're broken.
a love we've bound, and it's more broken than before...

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2011