Chasing Windmills

Through the Eyes of a Girl

I wish that I had some witty diatribe to publish, but it has been a slow week here in Clarksdale. So, I am publishing another poem. Hopefully, the dry spell will end soon.

Well, he was a blue eyed blond
Some would call a real Don Juan
He’d flash that mischievous smile
That’d stop your heart for a while
He was what every girl dreams
At least that is what it seams

So you indulged in your little fantasy
Drowned in a river of ecstasy
You surrendered you heart and soul
And now you’re bound to pay the toll
The dream is over, time to face reality
He is not at all what he seemed to be

Now it is more than his eyes that roam
While you sit alone waiting at home
The fire smolders and dinner gets colder
All the while he gets all the bolder
That cozy little cottage, white picket fence
None of this seems to make any sense

The eyes of a girl are filled with stars
But they really can’t see all that far
They believe what they want to believe
The truth they just cannot perceive
Thinking they are as happy as a lark
Off and running into the dark

posted by Michael @ 8:40 AM