Shrouded by a thicket of trees
a humble building sat.

Earthen brown & her windows
aged.
That old glass topped with frost and dirt.

Gently, I clear the thin veil
with my beaten hands.

Lo, there lay the roaring flame.

Neslted on the hearth
within the mantle.

Awestruck in its beauty,
I lost myself to time.

Day tenderly fell to dusk
and dark laid the pines.

I peered through that glass.

Lo, there lie the roaring flame.

It cut through the fog
the ever distant yellow glow.

Hints of red, dancing
between the corruscating beams of amber.

Resplendent light, so warm
and inviting,
surely had never been seen
like this before.

That light which broke through
the thickness of fog and tree
met my worn and tired face.
Filling each crease and fold with
a sense of exuberance.

The yellows & reds danced
joyously and how,
oh how I wondered
about their home.

Which surely must be
a hearth below a mantle.

It is but a somber feeling.
The lonely heart that yearns
for companionship.

Creating such a haze
amidst the trees.
I now wonder blind
&
lost.

The thinly veiled purple of night
draws nigh
absent of light.

My eyes not adjusted
to the deafening dark.

Oh! loss & hearts refrain
how I breathe with disdain
The cold that leaves the air
so still, unforgiving, & unfair.

Stones & bramble branches
break
under each step I take.

The smell of forest
& of damp earth
fills the chilled air.

Bark from trees bites
deep into my hands.

Steril wind cuts through emerald green pines.
The oiled needles brushing side by side.

The very breath I need
I can't seem to find.
I fear this forest has stripped me
of that prize.

Yet, I continue on. Forward, though lost.
I make my way.

In isolation, day by day.

And so the sea, she claimed three.

Taking the Mariner, Maiden, & unborn babe.

Together they shall live
in the cold currents.

Ne'er being separate
E'ermore.

For when the sea calls,
the heart must listen.

Giving itself wholly
to the cold and unforgiving tide.

And the sea she sang
a hymnal for thee
a hymnal for three.

Together in the harmony
of the cold
and unforgiving tide.

And the sea she sang
a hymnal for thee
a hymnal for three.

In the sudden moments
her heart sank
one-thousand leagues
into the sea of tears.

The yearning aching heart
beat violently in her chest.

Hands trembling
she reached
outward
for the oil lamp dimly lit.

The slow clapping of bare feet
against those aged cherry floors.

Her delicate hand
pushed open the finished oak door
that led to their sanctuary.

The door,
with all the worlds hope
&
despair behind it
opened.

She gathered her
ivory white slip
and made her way to the shore

The cold rush of the November tide
met her at waist height.

The weight of her despondent heart
would be enough to hold her down.

Waist
Shoulders
The top of her auburn hair.

Her footsteps
now but distant memories
of the sand.

Her body now one with the sea.

The fire in the belly of the mantle
lowly roars.
With it, the harmony of the beacon.

Though, as with all great scores, there must be an end.

When the last line of the melody is played
and the final note clings to the air
then decays.

As did the beacon so.
Drawing its last breath
and light slipping unto the dark.

With hurried steps
the Maiden makes her climb
Through the cherry staircase
onward and upward
the tower.

Falling, with all of the world's weight,
she weeps.
Her tears darkening the floorboards
like black ink on a yellow stained page

She could feel the call.