Finding Love -After 50 Poem by Roger Gerald Hicks

I erred Saturday night -uttered drivel
I realized
at dawn,
couldn't survive the inspection of slumber.

Artifacts of study & wisdom are veneer
on my deeper emotions: spontaneity,
originality even laughter;
not a bullet-proof shroud of Kevlar,
but ballistic gel, like
scientists use to stop and preserve bullets.

You said, "I know somewhere ahead
I'll find true love."

I negated your notion out of hand -
not to hurt, nor stimulate, nor protect
you from the stinging bees of reality

But because I enjoy being
an obverse cynic who doesn't abide
mythology past nor present

Today, truth (beneath the over-woven
layers of observations: pallet knives
of color without pattern) erased
bluster

Truth: Your paths must not only cross,
but connect.
For, with one shy glance he'll experience
the epiphany: all his life,
the ingredient- you- was missing.

That glimpse illuminating why
his life was flat, his goals misty,
his achievements shallow.

Trembling, he'll daringly examine
the brightness of your eyes, texture of
your hair, the delicacy of your fingers,
the shape of your shadow on the wall.

He'll stand taller, finger his hat,
move his hands in and out of his pockets
agape over a woman, prescient and
capable of opening for him a life
he reckoned might exist,
but until the instant you appeared,
had never experienced.

Needy? Hardly. Deserving? Certainly!
The mighty Universe cannot help but
respond—to both of you.