What affliction is desire?
     Of waiting
          Knowing in the end
      That you are not wanted.
It is the inklings of another's
      Seeming affection
That baits us ever forward
      And yet,
           In reflection

The ache you feel is self-inflicted
     Slow torture
     Of seeing more
          Than what is there.
Rationally, we know why.
     Know what other priorities
     Lay indelicately
          Affection to the side.
We know what Fears
     A sweet caress
     Can command.
          We know what hidden
     Would prefer to hide
          Never venturing forth
               Into the rain.
We're tired of wanting to be wanted
     Of hoping for
          Affection's sound
     Offered not as a response
          But as a desire:
     Of warmth stirred
          From a warm heart
     That pretends to play it cool.
What do we get out of this
     Pointless longing?
Why would our heart persist
     Against the silent wall
          Forged of self-preservation
That brings isolation
     To the heart that would
     Rather not be lonely
     If not for the past
          And the echoes of fear
Bouncing off those self-same
It should be us who flees,
     But there are
And the occasional light
          That spills from them
     Ignites a new wick
          Though the silence would snuff
     Each candle that marks the
Now the candle burns low
     And I fear that the wind
          Will blow
     And that I'm running
          Out of


The White Whale

How impossible it is to purge
    A love once it has found
    A hole in the heart to serve
    As anchor.
Hard when that harpoon, and the
    Knowledge of it's fearful strike
    Is known, truly, and yet
        Kept at a


O'er the uncertainty of action
    Of feeling, even when the
    Feeling is recognized and known.

Am I Ahab hunting out of love?
    Honestly I seek its culmination
    Or its demise
        Either would be a blessing
Though I'd far rather
    Love made Manifest

Than the death and disenchantment
    Of a pull so strong
        So constant
    And then gone.

But it is not gone

    And fresh sightings
        And earnest hints of promise
            From a heart that
        Cannot hide
            And a mind that would.

And I am wishing I could prove
        Myself as worthy
    To the mind that
        Reigns such heart
    As cast that first harpoon.
        So, I am Moby,
        And Ahab.

And is she, too,
    Ahab and Moby?

Yet it is a battle of love
    On a sea of pain
        And fear
    And the deep

Storms of hope
        And hope becalmed
    That white whale
        That albatross
            That captain

That white hope
    Would wave the
        White flag,

But surrendering hope of
        Only birthed
    Itself in surrender.
And hope yielded, but hid
    A passion that would not die

And a yearning stronger than
    The sea
Whose absence
    Renders the tale
    Ahab and Moby
        To metaphors

And this is anything but mundane
    And trying to accept what
    And what will be
    That hope and love
        Unburdened by truth
        Would become the truth
        Ahab and Moby
    Would end a battle
        That was love
    To become love.

That the harpoon
        Which is love
    Might be reeled in
        That the white whale
            Might become the ship
                And that together they might
                    Sail and