I strode into a bar one night
Stumbled actually into the dim light
At the sight of a lady
With a stellar gown made of dark fabric
With her hair so brown, it could have been fawn
I don't remember the details now
I don't even wear that cambric tunic
The night had slowly faded into a hushed dawn
With the drinks and chaotic murmurs turning to yawn
Like sunshine on flowers through a canopy
Our eyes met instantly
As the bar emptied
We got along well, I thought too myself
Under the stars and constellations, we spoke
Churning stories under the starlight, gaily
Of things which to this day have passed
Five years had passed
The serendipity struck me blind
"I am not capable of love."
"You aren't. But you will be."
She had the raw optimism of a child
I was still playing with my life
Under the serenity of the night sky
I realized a lot
In that short time
I was sure of someone
For once in my life
Then, I looked around the bar
She was still twiddling her thumbs
My heart beat twice as I looked at the shore
I wanted to say something
Looking through the window pane
The boats were docked, rocking on the waves
They were nestled near the pier on the high tide
This conversation was sailing smoothly
I needed a plan!
I had a plan
At least, I thought I had a plan
Yet I was tied to a feeling, there was some stillness
It smelled like beer, but, I could taste the fear
I couldn't ask her out
Or could I?
I decided to walk out of the tavern that night
I admit, I was a little lost and alone
Best choice I had made in a long time, right?
Suddenly, the door flew open
She ran up to me
The air was clear, her face lit up in the dead dark
I said a whole sentence, but, the wild wind hid the stupid remark
She blurted out, "I have never felt so alive."
I wish we meet again
Because I need that raw optimism again
Now I think too much, feeling too little
To write a poem, you need to be so in love with the idea of it that you can draft it a thousand times. Even after those thousand deaths, the essence of it should stay. The idea should be reflected in it's essence, which is only a small part of it. If you are lucky, the idea will come out eventually in a well-structured poem. Capture the intent behind writing it, when you write your poem, and interpret it smartly.