True Romance
Once upon a time...a female aquaintance asked me if I could write a piece that
represented a fairytale, idealised-type view of romance from a female
perspective. (Hey, look, it's not the weirdest thing I've ever been asked to do).
Anyway, this is what I wrote...and she hated it. What anyone else makes of it, well
that's up to them.
I wait in hope, hands clasped to breast
and sigh a heartfelt sigh of depth
generated from my inner child
who counts no cost of running wild.
Unfettered by the concrete caves
of city streets and sweatshop graves,
she spins on mountains capped with snow
and bears the torch of "never know".
For true, I never know what flame
may blaze in optimism's name,
whilst cynics with a sneer deride
I keep my options open wide.
I surf the wind that drives the sails
of maritime faith and fairy tales
and dream the day when I might meet
he who sweeps me off my feet.
He comes by steed or muscle car
to liken me unto the stars,
to crush me soft in arms of steel,
cement my dreams and make them real.
My blood will sing in veins of bliss,
my lips will drink the deepest kiss;
his life he'd sacrifice to prove,
his endless love...the earth would move.
If I believe enough to know
my will alone might make it so,
and so-called schemes of true romance
may well come true if left to chance.
I wait in hope and close my eyes,
with fingers crossed and wishful sighs;
my prince, my sweet aristocrat:
you have to dream...what's wrong with that?
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