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A poem about myself using a different name writing in the third person.

The Life and Times Of Henry

2014-04-27_04_24_43-joel_roderick_bissonby Joel Roderick Bisson19 Aug 2015

Henry was a young bright man whose love for his muse,
was a vast unending sea of which dreams were made,
The tiding of such romance between his dearest muse,
his love for life and his writing of tales to be written,
The kind of written stories where dreams come to true,
A lover and A poet, his muse and her open arms,
Love, with which what has come into Henry's view,
A woman whose hair is like golden silk and eyes like,
crystal orbs, skin so smooth and beautiful is her smile.
Henry's life is not that of a regular writer or of a poet,
for he writes in all mediums available to his needs,
The words are quite clear and writing with candor,
The novels and written tale all have one thing in common,
The woman he marries in his dreams be his solemn muse,
A woman whom dreams of henry and he does dream,
A life-long friendship of ones long time dream woman
The kind of woman whose his perfect match in love,
To all the years of searching for the right girl who finds him,
The way he finds her in a destined fated sort of way.

Henry's dreams were that of magic and happily ever afters
Woman who are in and out of his life and the only one
Dream Woman whose stories collide with that of Henry
The night that they first laid eyes on each other at sight
Is the one true dream of happiness that he dreams is her
Words, Actions and Smiles become his only guiding light.
The woman dreams of them together and lasting forever
In a loving relationship of sailing seas of emotions,
It's only reality that sets them two apart in time that is now,
The dreams were the times of years now in memories,
And I can't live to begin to believe there isn't a Woman for me
For I am Henry and I pine to find this woman in time.