Like a harbour docked with ships ,
That Leave and arrive in the guidance of a light house, is my heart.
A shelter to the arriving and departing love.
Yes, but...non-guided.
Wrecked,Wretched and awful.
That once rented a gruesome space
to a soujourner.
A tenent unknown and untrustworthy.

Miles away the distance......
But still we are close.
Your love is like a lighthouse,
Which navigates me to arose.
I can't overlook that smile
Which is engraved in my heart.
My love for you will never sink,
No matter how much we are apart.

Lighthouse shine a light for me
in these dark times it is hard to see
will you shine a light so I might be
(some day)
found

Meaning got lost in the rubble
trust has only brought me trouble
People hiding inside their bubble
(seems like we are all)
bound

Fires would you burn
I got lost after taking the last turn
what is there to find, what is to learn
(we feel like being, being)
drowned

Please, show me a way
it is hard to go, so much harder to stay
I walk, I halt, I run, I stray
(everything's loud but I make no)
sound

Lighthouse, my castle of warmth
how I miss your steady arms
and your happy, glowing charms
(how is seeing you in the distance so)
profound

Like ancient kings and queens
of a wisdom that redeems
though never knowing what it all really means
(in uncertainty, lonely, in melancholy once again)
crowned

It feels like walking under a night sky,
Only to look up and see grey,
Like the stars had sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

I feel swallowed up,
And as though I still house something,
Yet my body's but a hollow vessel.

With no lighthouse,
No storm to sweep me away,
I am merely a boat on a vast sea of tranquillity.

Though sometimes,
Silence is the most deafening noise of all.

He wrote of the light of the world,
a testament, a lamp to illuminate
the place from which he came —

    I saw his lighthouse coalesce
    out of the cloaking mist, its blade
    shearing the sheath of darkness.

    I inhaled the dusk bloom scent
    - Four O’Clock Flower, Poinsettia, Frangipani -
    beguiled by a road, undeterred
    by calls in the night, the rain, the unknown way.

    I sang with one thousand night-drunk tree frogs
    proclaiming an equatorial cycle to the stars,
    choristers intoning a chant of existence.

    I rode balanced between
    the cycling engine's torque and the
    reflective cast of my foreign skin.

    I felt the grip of ignominy constrict the stir
    of my drink, amongst hands toasting
    the crush of entitlement’s bearing.

    I walked where people dwell, and stop
    to greet and tell news of the market
    or of their nets, bearing the sea’s returns.

    I savored the song in his speech,
    a seasoned stew, unshackling the tongue
    to ring like the steel of a drum —

a tapestry unfurled: a world
paced by sirens of wind and wave,
embroidered on the earthbound side
of heaven's abiding blanket.

Copyright © 2017 Gary Brocks