Four Into Eight - the Silva Grail

Four of eight decades rest in the past So fortunate but how long can this last I’ve romanced, loved and married Living a life ever so harried Raising a family, I’ve worked hard A successful career achieved without fear I’ve traveled the globe Quenching the desire to probe An unending river, I yearn to learn I didn’t seek to fail, yet when I did, there wasn’t a wail So much conflict, I could have done with less I’ve hated and berated Later feeling regret I’ve stood painfully by As loved ones wait to die I’ve known more than one vice Yet four into eight I’ve not paid a high price Most of all I’ve embraced hope And a burning wish to leave behind More smiles than frowns, I hope they find My lifelong ploy is to bring more joy Yet four into eight I see my fate I burn bright and remain true to my dream Yet things are no longer what they seem Stripped of feeling Have I reached the ceiling Everything too familiar Where is the adventure Shriveling memories of a first kiss, holding hands Never knowing where she stands Remember staring longingly into each other’s eyes Wanting to know her thoughts, her lies Stomach churns, heart aches, lips quiver Yearning for experiences that once made me shiver The thrill to compete The challenge to overcome certain defeat The adrenalin rush before a speech Or in standing ready to teach That biochemical cocktail streaming through a vein I recall being addicted to this sort of pain Feelings I no longer feel yet now I’m willing to steal Four into eight and I fear it’s too late Sitting alone in a crowded Manhattan café Mulling my plight with all my might Late afternoon, entertaining and cheerful chatter I check my watch, does anything matter Another sip of green tea Just moments before I flee I foolishly believe the hot tea may thaw feelings within me There is but one open seat I fantasize, hoping for a treat She glides toward me, will I soon be free Shocking beauty, commanding height A less confident man would surely take flight Mesmerized before hello I wonder how she sees this fellow Amber eyes framed by long locks of brown Her face rarely darkened by a frown Skin of olive, flaws fewer than light The percussion of her presence is a welcome preamble She is cool, distant and poised, well worth the gamble A charming, confident and sovereign soul Long and lean the ultimum athleta personifying self control Not three into eight her abundant energy does captivate Her name is Silva, a Balkan beauty She has migrated west to become her best Supremely confident, she has a plan Inquisitive and independent, she is controlled by no man Charming and beautiful, she can make her own way Mysterious and elusive, its hard for her to stay A long forgotten curiosity overcomes him He longs to know more, yearning for her personal lore She delays her trust Anticipation enhances his desire and lust He’s just four into eight mired in a mystifying debate The Silva grail marks his trail enabling him to set sail Oh, a good life, an honest life he may just derail Her energy, beauty and zeal may allow him to feel She’s resurrected his yesterdays, yet how many tomorrow’s It’s never too late, even four into eight