SYNOPSIS: About a man who comes walking into town, and not a minute after his entry, he has already found that certain someone he wishes to spend his life with.
My contention when writing this love poem is to tell it from a third person view
that way no one in the world will know your name and will have no one to tie it back to;
and neither of us will ever become embarrassed, or caught up in great despair,
for my secret will be carefully hidden within the pages of this poem.
In truth however I don’t even know your name, but I do remember those angel eyes,
I only hope you can forgive me, if from now on I refer to you as ‘she’ or ‘her.’
We first met on a beautiful Friday morning at approximately ten a.m;
her hair was a lustrous red and flowed down her back like an extravagant ocean.
She wore tight jet black pants with decorations of brilliant red roses down the sides,
whilst her perfectly symmetrical body moved in unison with every step.
She had the body of an angel, all she was missing were those great white wings,
but why would she ever need them, for I did not wish for her to fly away.
That same day I was a complete stranger, who had only just come rolling into town,
I had already built up quite the reputation, for breaking hearts and taking names.
The dust kicked up around my feet as I attempted to blend in with the crowds,
but she suddenly spotted I; the man who was not walking too casually.
I was bound to do some extreme damage, which must have been why I looked so out of place,
my eyes coming to lock upon her; the ravishing angel, who was a work of heart.
She looked upon my face as I stared into those unmistakably beautiful eyes,
that were, long and behold a paradise, hidden by the single most gorgeous disguise.
Such was her silky skin, her stylish hair, her flawlessly perfect body,
my eyes being unable to remove themselves from such a perfect figure.
But that moment, it did not last forever, and it unfortunately had to end
and when finally given the opportunity I could never find her again.
Once upon a time I had found myself lost within the troubles of my youth,
I can only hope that I am not ashamed of the person I am today.
To prove myself the protagonist that was sent to rescue the woman of my dreams,
I would accomplish everything and anything to secure a happy ending.
She may yet wonder why I dare do things that others do not, after heeding talk of caution.
But I dare deliberately to do almost anything to become the man I ought to be.
For if she were to combine her ravishing voice with mine, such would be stupendous,
as we fatedly come together to experience romance everlasting.
To do this however she would need to cross a river of grief, pride and pain
to eventually find that old tragic heart of mine buried deep down inside.
By doing this she would be shown a part of me that no one has ever seen;
a part of me, moreover, that no one else in this world of ours ever will.
I find myself compelled to ask her the question ‘girl, what am I to you?’
‘Am I unloved?’; ‘Am I your future?’; ‘Do we even share a connection?’
I ask such a question because in this world there are two kinds of men;
these include, those of whom you grow out of and those who you grow into.
I hope with all my heart however that I am to be indeed the latter.
I may not be the man she loves today, but I can wait until tomorrow.
Nevertheless I cannot believe that she has not seen through my secret disguise;
it is so thin, so unnecessarily useless that I wish to tear it down.
I pretend I am the man of her dreams, when in reality I don’t believe I am.
With this said I would appreciate becoming the man who could provide to her a home.
I feel however that the fates, your friends, your family, all believe this could never work
and if that be the case leave me gone forever; leave me but a memory, nothing more.
Posted on January 24, 2012, in Poetry and tagged angelic, bad boys, boyfriend, danger, dreams, family, girlfriend, heartbreak, identity, infatuation, love, lust, memories, passion, poetry, ravishing, reputation, romance, secret identities, small towns, strangers, wishful thinking. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.