I met my wife through her son. He wanted to become a police officer, and through my profile, he knew I was one. We conversed through email for quite some time as I explained the steps he had to go through. Soon, email proved to be too slow. Once we switched to the telephone, it was inevitable that Sandy would answer occasionally when I called, and we would chat. The rest, as they say, is history; and contrary to what my brother-in-law says, she did not find me on eBay.
My son-in-law later honored me by asking me to be in his wedding party. At the reception, I made a toast about the strength of the attachment between him and his wife, because their souls were a perfect match. I have since pondered on that toast, thinking that perhaps I stumbled on a great truth. This morning, I picked up my quill and placed those thoughts on paper. Soul Mates is the result.
by Mike Patrick
Few know it’s true—the shape of souls,
Are never smooth and round.
Sometimes they can be jagged,
Or in a spiral, tightly wound.
There may be bumps and holes
From that place where chaos rules.
Perhaps it can be best explained
By revolving genetic pools.
When two souls are blended
Through love, on a human plain,
They always roughly seem to fit,
Through methods quite arcane.
The looser that the souls combine,
More strife, through life, is faced.
Much more work will be involved
For a marriage to be graced.
Only once in every hundred years,
Against galactic, random odds,
A perfect match is truly made
And sanctified by gods.
And so it came to be with us;
A disturbance, know as fate,
Together placed me with you:
My absolute soul mate.