4.05.2015

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

            Distance

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,
            Then,
        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
        Unknown.

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
    Love
        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
        Mundane.

And this is anything but mundane
    And trying to accept what
        Is
    And what will be
    That hope and love
        Unburdened by truth
        Would become the truth
            And
        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
                        Perhaps
                            Fly.

No comments:

Post a Comment