A Destined Love
A fateful meeting one fine day
He sits staring into space, daydreaming,
Thinking of his plans for that very night,
A date with destiny, he feels it in his veins,
A dinner, a relaxing wine, a night to excite.
***
It all started a couple of weeks ago,
Wandering along the boardwalk, stopping dead,
There is a vision, an incredible goddess,
Wandering along in leisure just up ahead.
***
His paces speed up considerably,
As he follows in her trail,
He needs a closer look, a need more important than breathing,
Adamant he had to inspect her every fine detail.
***
As he swaggers up alongside this glorious vision,
He realises she must be a muse from another world,
Perfection, astonishing beauty, a glimmer of paradise,
He’s lost his ability to speak, shocked at the sight of this wonderful girl.
***
He opens his mouth to stutter, abhorrent at his tongue-tiedness,
A cough, a splutter, and finally a whistle under his breath,
This man has fallen under her spell, a classic case of love at first sight,
He realises he is hers, from this moment until his death.
***
She glances across at him in amusement,
Perfectly aware of the effect she has cast upon him,
She smiles gracefully, leaving him weak in the knees,
And when he asks her shyly if she’ll do dinner, she says yes on a whim.
***
That precocious fateful meeting,
Was a destiny of awakening, an epic life changing,
As they both fell into the deepening of their relationship,
Sure it was a fateful arranging.
***
He sits and daydreams,
Wondering how it all came to be,
This blessing in the guise of a goddess,
Unlocking his heart and setting his love free.
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
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)
I feel like he has his rose coloured glasses on, lol. Why am I being so cynical 🤣
Or perhaps we should simply watch, smile & muse.
Has his love been set free or simply captured by an instant infatuation? Regardless, the rush of emotion feels like love set free, even as his heart has been captured. The question remains, will love blossom or wither on the vine? Perhaps dinner will begin to tell the tale, one way or another. I remember feeling this way & still find myself wondering whether love/I have been set free or simply captured. Will it be torture or delight? Perhaps both? Invoking both sense & heart memories, powerful & unyielding of their secrets. Well done!