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He Caught His Prize

He believed in his destiny

By Colleen Millsteed Published 7 months ago 1 min read
Image courtesy of Pixabay

He wandered the barren landscape of his dreams,

Forever searching for the one who completes his goals,

Be it friend, lover or nemesis,

Turning his days into a light-scape she controls.


His heart is bonded in chains and locks,

Darkened with pain of torments past,

Blooded with memories of an age old year,

In a nightmare that is forever cast.


His face is worn into grooves of constant tears,

Eyes forlornly looking towards a future without hope,

His mind a jumble of contradictions,

Tussled and confused, struggling to cope.


Until the morning he eclipsed under a ray of sunshine,

When his gaze fell upon the brown eyes of his destiny,

A glance of such profound connection his knees grew weak,

And his heart beat into a song of such exquisite ecstasy.


A smile lit his handsome face in a golden glow,

As love filled the shattered cracks of his shrivelled heart,

Blood pounded his temples in a staccato of joy,

And laughter bubbled in delight at his soul’s kickstart.


His feet walked on air where once he stumbled aground,

His head now lives within the clouds of above,

A small hand clasps his tightly with an unspoken promise never to let go,

As she surrounds him in the aroma of her exotic love.


Where once there was one living a solo existence,

Now there are two who’ve expanded in physicality,

A family of adoration, of strength, of enchantment,

Two hearts full of love, joy, hope and sentimentality.

Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.

If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.

Please visit my website if you'd like more information on my newly published book, Battle Angel : The Ultimate She Warrior.

Originally published on Medium

love poems

About the Creator

Colleen Millsteed

My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.

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Comments (3)

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  • Diane Mary Markey7 months ago

    WOW!! Such a turn around. From one to two.

  • So beautiful (I've been using that word a lot tonight), filled with hope & promise.

  • Awww, so glad he is happy now! Such a wonderful poem!

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