Baronhawk's Nest

I have a tale to tell, this story of a man,
obtuse obese, slightly awkward rather shy,
a fashion victim, whose shoes match not his belt,
walking tired alone, unnoticed in each step.

Not me mind you, this guy I knew from work,
who mainly use his time, watching screen typing keyboard,
shares his day with mountain dew, cherry coke mars snickers bars,
accompanied by books, movies computer games sad songs.

He spends his days mourning, dead ideals long lost dreams,
constantly probing, might and could have beens,
lost adrift he was, on a landscape ripe for the picking,
waiting for a ship, long ago has set a sailing.

Until "She" came breaking through all his shields,
leaving him bereft, yearning perturbed incomplete,
for I... no... he have found the lady, that made his heart to beat,
a thundering tempo, that did a thousand times repeat.

But there he was, mute and without sound,
his arms leaden weights unable to wave a hi,
his feet forever rooted, nailed upon the spot,
despite his ardent wish, to chase and walk beside.

His voice once booming, would silence to a whisper,
his gestures once large, now can't even be found,
his eyes would roam and roam, but never ever at her,
his tongue tied-up, when she is next to him and near.

And so his brain did churn, with this brilliant plan,
pay me his friend, to write this poem and rhyme,
I stand here today, ambassador to his heart,
to this lady sweet, this love of mine... no... his be sent.

And now in his words, not mine... shall I pour this raw foundation,
to build upon and paint, this view of his ambition,
where there was one alone, momentary discarded,
now there is another, the promise that hope has plotted.

I shall let him speak, leaving you and "Her" to judge,
if this love of his, does hold a grain of dust,
I am very well paid, already quite satisfied,
in the currency of hope, dreams and love's respite.

In his words...

"all I see is your hair, that the wind so carelessly blew
I wish it were my fingers, in your tresses dancing through
all I see are your eyes, doing that thing that they do
as they dance that special tango, with that special light of you

all I see is your smile, from those lovely lovely lips
for which I would die, to feel the brush of each
all I hear is your voice, which holds me to your sway
such tender melodies, once only angels play

But I stopped at hello, stammered my goodbyes
the lovely lady that was you, always left me tongue-tied
I wish it were now, you are here hearing this
my heart still do yearn, to steal from you a kiss."

Thus goes this little poem, to the lady of his heart,
What now don't know... I leave it to you and "Her" to judge...