One lone lighthouse stands
exposed to all the elemental storms;
there, at a tip of peninsular land
beaming a light of survival
through all the tempests
born of changing seasons.
One man, alone now, tends
miraculous pure beam of singularity
imbibing in the spirits of the night;
for his wife had passed into eternity
and all the love he ever felt,
yet never found a way somehow
to share with her in his expression,
flashes with those beams of light
o’er oceans and then on into the heavens.
He swears, at times, he sees
her there -
mistily, as in a waking dream.
He reaches out, but only finds
a touch of warm, moist air
responding to his need and his desire;
and yet somehow, her love’s reborn
inside of him again
within a bright and flashing fantasy
of memory’s arrival.
Lone, the man and house and
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...