You are not the object of desire

You are not the object of desire, you see.
You are the symptom of lack of reason, of judgment.
Or it is possible that you are a symptom of circumstance.
You are the idea of a man – a man who may
Be unlike the men who constantly disappoint.

Therefore, I absolve you of this vile inheritance
Of contempt; you are pure until you defile yourself
With words which yield no fruitful sentiment
Or you fail to follow with action which fulfills their promises.
I doubt you will submit to such imprudence.

You may become aware of this desire I hold;
But, it may be too late for this weary traveler.
I will have tired of longing for longing’s sake.
And when the symptom of desire subsides,
The only things left will be the prospect of the future
And the memories of regret that shape it.

© 2012 Helena Malheur

D.O.

Words Whispered to No one

Cast your eyes toward the shed; the trees

no longer hide my street from view.

on a shaded hill-side, front and back –

gazing upon the water, I sing

to the Buddhists in your court.

Their howl is heard a thousand miles away;

It is evidenced by this great pretense.

You must forgive the silence in these walls,

and the darkness seeping through the halls.

Sadness is stretching its hands, pushing

through the ceiling, ever downward –

a slow, unyielding force to which I must relent.

My mind follows an intricate maze like a rat;

and like a nomad belonging nowhere,

I go everywhere, seek everything, and find nothing.

Palpable longings pale in this caustic moon –

the moon wearing its fitted rim of light;

in night’s flailing fabrication of heat,
words whispered to no one fall on idle ears.   

©  2012 Helena Malheur

Oh Love

Oh love!  Would it be fair to love you so 

as you know not where my heart’s desires lie?

Alone with the night, I am ever awake 

climbing a dream like a skilled mountaineer 

with reaching hopes; I live to love and

love to live your blues. And the world

is undoubtedly bluest at daylight’s break.  

You hold the world in your palm, spin it

on your finger.  Yet, I shan't overlook 

your ambiguous words and un-tucked whims. 

You mustn't talk foolishly whilst I lean  

even more awkwardly forward, steadfast

and right.  If you only seek possibilities 

but nothing more, don’t despair; 

I will forever be tender-hearted –

forgo temptations to breathe without you –.

My disobedience of reason will endure.

And the consumption of my heart, my soul,

shall fare to seek remedy from your embrace. 

©  2012 Helena Malheur

D.O.