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
