The Eternal Optimist

The Eternal Optimist prose poem

Her silhouette against the sun; while I stare at her perfect contour-lying on the beach tear eyed,
Rays of sun-shine in the background; her shadow engulfs me with all its might; she smiles,
Promises to return to me- I ado about nothing;
For I’m the eternal optimist, my job is to wait.

Locks of silk awaken me from my afternoon slumber; she’s beside me laughing-paradise,
She whispers old reminiscence in my ears-I laugh, suddenly becoming nostalgic the next moment;
She whispers me to wait, for now the time is not right,
I wait, for I’m the eternal optimist, my job is to wait.

Hand in hand, side by side the busy highway, vehicles whizz past us, two bodies but one soul,
The sun sets and in the dying rays I see you one last time-bewitched as if you cast a spell;
Your eyes like an ocean- waiting for me to plunge within you, you pause and smile,
I know what to do; I wait, for I’m the eternal optimist, my job is to wait.

The busy marketplace where I rightfully claimed you, a boy stands there bearing your face;
Holding his right hand-the reason for my existence; you,
I observe from a distance, transfixed, bewildered, surprised, and astonished;
Sighing I go on to what I do best- I wait, for I’m the eternal optimist, my job is to wait.

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