Sight

What do I do,
When stared in the eye?
A confession that could move
A man such as I.

Does she know
The power she holds.
With but a word,
To the floor I shall fold.

A muse as beautiful
As the word’s insight
Given to a man
Who stumbles through the night?

A spell has upon me
A grip fastened tight.
If I am freed,
Will I be left with any sight?

---

This poem is from my early college years.