lilahlove

This is the poem my husband wrote me.

Here I Sit
by Mark Fernkopf


There we sat, awaiting our turn at the needle.
Selling our life's blood to feed us bipedals.
Sitting amongst the poor of the city.
None of us were looking too pretty.
Times were hard. We bled or we starved.

Into this sorrow walks a couple young females.
The cowgirl gets a few hoots and yells.
Yet my eyes are drawn to the one on the left.
The shorter of the two, with a little more heft.
I still don't know why she first drew my eye.
I thought,"These guys are wrong, this ones the prize."

So there we set, in silence unmet.
Two unknown souls, about to share lives.

An hour or so later, I'm back in the beds.
Pumping away with the other deadheads.
And as luck may have it, the stars must've aligned.
Cause of all the beds there, she sat next to mine.

I'm marching to battle among numbers untold.
A slithering snake of purple and gold.
Dust clouds arise, as does our chorus.
Announcing our presence by lofting before us.

Two years have past since that chance meeting.
So many memories. . . . Time is fleeting.

I'm a new man now, an entirely new life.
So much has changed, I'm about to take a wife.
I stand here now with my sword by my side.
She's in our tent, preparing to be my bride.

Here I sit, taking calls to pay the bills.
Trying to make enough to afford a few thrills.
Two months have passed since our medieval betrothal.
So much more to come. . . . It's incomprehensible.

There are many emotions I wish to convey.
Yet as i sit here, I struggle with what to say.
The feeling I get while lost in her smile.
The love that makes it all worth while.

Here I sit.