PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

If I was to traverse the good old Memory Lane,
Then destination Shawntae Williams is my halt;
This lapidary deliberation has caused me pain,
But I perceive this as a feat instead of just a fault.

There has been a multitude of ladies in my life,
Yet not another one have the alterego Nikki Cruz;
Therefore, I have tossed and turned in the night,
Because my testosterone made my heart confused.

I endeavored so hard to compare the blithe joy
Of being with you to each very tedious moment,
But I am a man now, not the epitome of a little boy
Who was too aloof rather than quite somnolent.

Shawntae, I have come to actually realize,
That not another woman can make feel like this,
When I muse of staring in your obscure eyes,
But all I do is write as I prolong to reminisce.

I can finally say after these seven long years,
That no woman treats me like you do, Shawntae;
I am not too haughty to admit that I cried tears,
Because I was always seeking you to love everyday.

I am even weeping now as I cautiously write
This very poem as my only means of contact;
I wonder and wish underneath the moonlight,
If seeing you again would be a figment or a fact.

I still envision you with the gelled pony-tails,
As the woman who wears neither a dress nor skirt,
The girl without earlobes and manicured nails,
And the young lady comfort me when I was hurt.

I still can picture you as the head cheerleader,
Like I did when I became a rookie soccer champion;
I also can see you as the girl who was a little neater,
But I really think of you as my ultimate companion.

I could retrospect to us singing songs of Keith Sweat,
And us with our little brothers going to Shadowlawn;
For with this thought in my head, I have no regret,
Because the memory is one of which I am very fond.

Shawntae, I can recall trying seize your beauty;
However, I was to do it by drawing on a sheet of paper,
And it took no Einstein to discover that it was a duty
Which was as difficult as converting money into vapor.

Still I can picture your smile, lips, and your face
With your unique and very beautiful nose;
Still it remains a memory that I could not erase,
As I grow into an adult, it likewise grows.

Shawntae, I hope that this poem reaches you
Or someone who knows you as well as I do or better;
Shawntae, I desire to do what my heart wants me to,
And that is only for you and I to get together.

I remember Saint Valentine's Day of 1997,
I had gotten someone else flowers and cried,
Because the feelings for each other was to heaven,
Due to the voices of people who lied.

Shawntae, I sniffled and you comforted me still,
But you know I did not see gifts for you that day,
And now that perplexes me as something surreal,
Because many fellows wanted to be you, Shawntae.

Does all good things come to an end?
Does matters if I am still thinking of you?
Does every thing have to something we pretend?
Does even change things I say that I love you?

Yes, Shawntae Williams, I love you and only you,
I shall dedicate myself to finding you without fear;
I hope you are alive and my dream comes true
Of having you near, of having you right here.