Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Day 4- Panache (my favorite word)

There once lived a woman much braver than me,
who lived on her own in a house by the sea. 
At times the blue waves would reach ten feet tall,
and she would just laugh: she feared nothing at all.
She had lived a long life in that very place-
little brought her more joy than the sun on her face.
But she'd always lived alone. 
On top of a hill overlooking the sea,
there lived a man whose dreams ran free.
From his high vantage point he gazed at the beach
to the one that he loved, just out of reach. 
From the deck of his home, he flew a white plume
in the hope that she'd see it and cut through his gloom. 
There he watched from the safety of shadows.
Now the woman was known all throughout the town-
her daring deeds were admired and renowned. 
She lead expeditions down on her beach over rocks;
the neighborhood children would attend in flocks. 
She was the guardian angel for all the towns folk,
for as long as she'd lived there, not one life had broke.
She could cut the waves like a mermaid. 
The man saw all of this and admired her zeal;
to him she seemed mystical, a being unreal.
A drawer of his desk was filled to the brim
with letters of love, written on a whim. 
Every word weighted him down like a pile of stones
and the longing he felt cut straight to his bones. 
And one day, his shy heart had enough. 
But there was one thing the man did not know,
that the woman he loved, who projected such glow-
she saw him! She did, and admired him too;
his quite intelligence, the pictures he drew.
She had always wished she knew him better
but although her bravery she wore like a sweater
it unraveled whenever he was near. 
Above on the hill, the man stared down at the quarry. 
He was sick to death of this silly love story.
Waves smashed at the rocks as he walked onto the beach;
his brain was a buzz with his unprepared speech.
And there she stood, looking out at the ocean;
the man's fear disappeared, replaced with devotion. 
And he said, 'you look lovely tonight.'
And at that very moment, the tables had turned
as the woman smiled and her rosy cheeks burned. 
Just as quickly as his solitude came to an end
the shyest man in town made a new friend. 
And as the moon rose high up in the sky
the man almost broke down to cry.
And the sea glittered for them. 
All of the ways she thought herself flawed
he disagreed: they left him eternally awed.
And as they slept side by side all through the night
she would sometimes wake and hold him tight.
Not wanting to rouse him, she'd smile and wait,
thinking of all they'd talk of, what things they'd create. 
And she laughed at her sappy ideas. 
Together they formed two halves to behold:
him quite and thoughtful, her outlandish and bold.
They swept through the town, hand in hand-
their deeds full of kindness, hair full of sand. 
And when his old self resurfaced, scared and spewing,
she'd remind him: all that they had was his own doing.
And that to her, he was the one with panache. 

1 comment:

dolores said...

Great story...and gears!