The Lighthouse

I hear you struggling through the waves,

I can’t see you from the shore.

The night is dark,

the wind, relentless

and the roar of crashing surf

dissembles.

 

You were so sure.

You were so solid,

your direction beyond question.

You set out in your own power,

confident of your ability.

 

Now I hear

you crying out;

you’re struggling

to keep above the waves

and there’s rain coming down.

 

Set off in the still and calm,

but never with a thought

that today,

the storm would come.

Soon you’ll be a sunken treasure.

Soon you’ll be

smashed against the rocks.

 

If I could find some way

to guide you in;

the old lighthouse

hasn’t shone in ages,

but it’s my only chance.

 

So I break into a dead run.

The old tower still stands.

I break down the door,

but there’s no lamp,

but there’s wood

and gasoline.

 

I light a fire

and soon

it’s out of control.

I still hear you,

shouting out your trouble

in between

the breaking of the waves.

 

I stand

on the cliffs

as the whole lighthouse

is now ablaze behind me

and you look

and see me silhouetted in the flames.

 

I lift my voice

above the ocean

and I call your name.

 

Still afloat,

you struggle now

towards the shore;

safe

and certain of your direction.

After a while

the waves bring you in

and your struggle ends.

 

I help you up

from your wreckage

and the turmoil of your ordeal

and I bring you up

to where the lighthouse burns.

It is warm there

and you cry

and rest,

until I can bring you home.

 

You say,

“It was so perfect when I left.”

I reply,

“Never mind. You’re back, now.”

The reasons

that you left in the first place

are history;

lost to the wind

and the flames

of the burning lighthouse.

 

HG – 2018

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