the night fog, thick with dust and smoke
a depression over sea for ages

tainted by this void, a lighthouse remained unlit
silent until an inevitable, habitual spark

the lighthouse burns a beautiful flame
its warmth and radiance drawing many from the distant dark

sentimentalists, misanthropes, vagabonds
all converging and communing around the beacon

its heady inebriating light bringing wonder, vigor to lives

as the density of benefactors grew, so did their warmth
the heart fires and body heat compounding greatly

storm clouds replaced by an inescapable, passionate blaze
steaming and suffocating the view from the lighthouse

the stairways inside collapse into embers
the dancing of which entertains the visitors

patrons each take bricks from the lighthouse to claim their own
but lament the lost stability

the tall pale structure, once hardened and obscured in darkness
now fragile when it's most featured on the horizon

the beacon dismantled
consumed in twisting, combusting delirium celebrated by all who witnessed it

until it left them no guide through the raucous cliffs,
and ashes to further shroud their view

like they had been for so long