From Across the Room

I saw you walk in from across the room.

I saw you smile with your eyes as big as the Moon.

To the truths of life, we were too young and naïve,

And the distance between us was too far to see.

You appeared as a rose standing out in the crowd,

And your glance was like a lightning bolt from a cloud.

I wanted to run to you, but with feet stuck in the mud,

I lost you as the growing crowd became a flood.

Jostled and pushed, my drink of life was spilled.

I was trapped by the voices in my own Bastille.

Their words, at first, were so thoughtful and nice,

And I let myself be deceived by their hearts of black ice.

With napkins some appeared to clean up my shirt,

With promises unsaid and a flick of their skirt.

Visions of happiness danced in my mind,

Their hustling of me lost in life’s endless bump and grind.

I invested too much in those that didn’t care,

I longed for the women with the long, flaxen hair.

Finally, I pushed the masquerading napkin-wielders away,

And found myself alone, the rusted needle in the hay.

And found myself alone, the rusted needle in the hay.

All seemed lost in the room now desolate and bare.

Then I saw her, the woman with the once long, flaxen hair.

Much time had passed, that was the distance between us.

Now here before me, she was short of hair and ambitious.

Each other we uplifted, each other’s burdens we carried.

To each other we entrusted on the day that we married.

Now she is my Sun, where once she was my Moon,

When I spotted her long ago, from across the room.