So many famous lines have come from poet’s thought,

I have often wondered of the lines that the poets forgot,

There must have been the moments when the wife called,

Or when he woke from a deep sleep, were lines recalled,

If written by me “Oh Patti, Patti, where are you Patti” I cried,

It doesn’t sound the same if said “thou” it can’t be denied,

Juliet had her Romeo and she cried for him into the night,

Words of perfection came from Shakespeare’s story of plight,

Many interpretations have been made in how the story is told,

But everyone must agree it must be considered artistic gold,

“Love on the Dance Floor” has been said to be my very best,

But it really doesn’t matter when it comes my time to rest,

How you feel of me is more important than any written rhyme,

Others say “A Sailboat of Paper Mâché” is my best dream line,

In that dream state I search for you from child to adult male,

How close we all stand next to death is hidden within that tale,

I fear as I age I won’t find the words to describe my open heart,

The only reason I cherish this skill is to describe my love in art,

I’m no sculptor nor writer of song, to say I’m an artist is a stretch,

If only I could paint your portrait or even a carbon to paper sketch,

Second thoughts come to mind so often they should differ by name,

In bundles they come instead of one second thought non the same,

It’s numerical in value not a measurement of time in this poet’s rhyme,

Within my thoughts are images of you draped in mood colors each time,

No matter the background or color your image is of an angel in glow,

To describe an angel is impossible in task it’s the hardest thing I know,

For fifty years I’ve searched for the words of perfection my angel in pink,

My mind sees moods as colors and colors envelop the emotions I think,

How many lines have I forgotten that were perfection and color draped,

Was love’s perfect description once in my mind and has it escaped,

Magenta is how I see passions escape from one heart to the next,

In a moment of passionate ecstasy did it escape to Infiniti complexed,

Pause, take pause I beg, consider that within each thought you lie,

Very deep thought brought through my memories from my eye,

Of you and for you the process of life has existed within this form,

I, the man so in love with you, have admitted my love is beyond norm,

Each line of most every poem written for nearly fifty years is of you,

The search for perfection of word, words to describe my heart through,

I take breath as a child at times in awe of his first beautiful recognition,

I cry as a child when thoughts of the end will bring physical separation,

Love will always bring heartache unless parting was accidental,

Reality brings thoughts of truth that for one of us it will be horrible,

But until my heart can no longer beat I will seek perfection in word,

Perfect words or lines to say “I love you”, words you’ve already heard.

The end, by Pat for Patti.