Tillytales of Lovelockets and Wunderloves

I had to bring this one back again (with a few revisions)

  

Yea in tender times, life flings dirt,

 throwing hurt on wounds, spitter bitter spat—

destroying the moment when hearts are in most leapbeats, pitter pat.

Tenderlove is a force, a thing unsatiated. 

A lovelocket aflame, a heart so alive in wondrificous compluvication. 

A welt, a wound cannot stop a warhearted wunderlovelocket in love with everyone, under-time, allover, for everly-ever!

Such wunderdrug, love is. 

Tis like being drunk, tipsy in tenderlove alltimes. 

A curious drug that sends one into curiotrances of lovers dances.

What sort of thing is this?

To be unafraid, to be unabashedly overbashed? 

trapped in repa-tative groove rut

of underwhomping, overwelping thumpaweeping?

To be caught in fishtangled lovemangled nets

of lovesuckers' hunters in an ocean, 

once thought to be filled with noughtly more 

than drops of lovelockets heartseeping lifelops.

Curious enoughly, the waters of loveseep-drops are filled

with such bloodbeat hungry sharks, 

those fishers who hang their lovepiercing hooks in the water,

just waiting to mangle a lovebiter who can do nothing less

than leap at every chance to feed their loveful heart-hungry enamoreyes

so entranced by loves filfuelfires,

who long to be held close to similar hot-hearts that seep endless love to each others bloodlockets.

But I'm not afraid!

No tearful fearfiller will steal my joyful wunderfillment

that such lovelockets as mine derive life from.

Such wonderplace things cannot be distinguished without lifejoints failing.

No, we must meet death before we can part from such foolication as wunderdrugging on tenderlove!

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2012

Time Lapse

10 o'clock on a cool January night,
I return to the empty place that once was yours
The light switched on sheds its light on the barren domain
The room has been purged, cleaned, tidied up, redone
All traces of you are but a memory that feel unattached
memories that don't fit the space anymore
I watch time speed by, and I realize I'm 10 years older
though I've stood in the doorway for a moment
and now you're not who you were, you've grown,
you're always wonderful and you are mine.

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2012

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

Queendom for a Prince.

 
Princes, frogs, gentlemen,
whatever they may be
this heart seems ruptured by each
whether by their love or lack thereof
or even just the mention of such
oh how the Others mock my heart
for wanting a prince, a love, a man
how the Others break my heart
for calling every man I note: Frog.
My heart suddenly feels unwise,
insincere, unlearn'd, never clever.

The drop. and my heart barrels down
down through my chest, through the earth
burying itself far from heavens' light
and disintegrating, decomposing
far from the light of any love
and crumbling under the pressure
Who am I? no, who are they,
They, who discount what my heart sees
They, the Others, who mock the heart
They, who cannot see as I do
but plunder through to blunders
hammering tears from its tender skin
til the delicate tissue of my heart tears

My Queendom for a heart.
A Kingdom for the love of my words.
All the land for the peace of my mind
Ne'er can there be one who fits the bill
It seems there is no prince as they would have
for they would not have anyone for me
No, not a single one at all.
oh the Others seem cruel.
To themselves, wise.
To us, with a smirk, we'd say 'smart'.
How cruel that I must be a hobbit
Tucked away in my hole
without a soul to love as mine.
Cruel enough that I am as unusual
but what casual heartbreak method
that those like myself, I may not see.

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2011

Cruel fancies

How cruel you are
and how casual it is
Not a thing you recognize
Nothing you realize
You draw me in
You fling me back
Reel me in
Push me away
Beckon me close
Only to throw me
to the ground
A broken yo-yo
I'll be for you no more
How cruel you could be
Your fits and flights of fancy
terrorizing girls hearts
fighting for your affection
never realizing what harm you render
for your cruelty is too subtle
so invisible. so obvious.

You are heartless in your affection
your double-minded affectation
I will be yours no more
No, nevermore
I won't be here
Not when you come 'round
This time I'll sit back
Watch you squirm
Of course life is good for you!
As long as you got your way.
I'll let my heart hurt no more
The yo-yo string has snapped
and I'm rolling off
I've found a new joy!
Bouncing and running
Flying and spinning
Dancing and spiraling
I never knew what tricks I could do
If only without you
If only I was cut loose

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2011