Monday, May 4, 2015

An Irish Warrior Queen

Her lineage was noble
From a family of leaders
She knew her kin was different
But she was curious, kind
And she crept into my heart
But I didn't realize
She was dangerous, even wild
She was neither tamed nor soft
But then she walked into my heart
And I had to have her at any cost
Flame red hair could not match
The fire inside passion of her ire
Her anger when stoked in battle
Her love when struck was fire
Her mind was bright and powerful
Her heart beat the warrior's drums
She wore a Queen's demeanor
And walked as if she owned a kingdom
From the first
I knew, I was unworthy of her
She became woven in my soul
And my heart had no defense
As she took complete control
"Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good."

Whenever I write poems about love and how I love my wife, people say how lucky I am.  But while I might be, I write about what I hope, regarding my beloved.  I try to follow the verse I mention above, because, why believe the worst in people?  You move further in life hoping and believing in people than assuming bad things.  My wife is great, she is a warrior, an Irish Scots Canadian who gave me my son.  She has red hair, and was my best friend before she was the person who my heart realized was my future bride.  Not much about marriage is easy, but after 27 years (June 11, 1988) I hope we've had enough lessons in love to draw from to know how to go forward.