A splash of water was all it took,
The taste of sea on ripe lips,
Whose entrance guarded bitter words,
Then spoken, and breathed, once more.
For in his heart tis freedom all he knew,
In past lives he fought to seek beyond,
The mind itself, so closed again
And then could not see what past he had.
It mattered then, the coke and wine,
And the wanks and chats: buried in soil.
He would hoist his sails now tainted glow,
Nor treat his wood as he would guard a mast,
Now miles away, yet still a light feigns past,
Mused are the ones he thought so gay,
Now cherished in light yet so far apart,
And every night he’d encircle that simple stone,
Cursing every moment this much too fast;
A simple past since is long too gone.
And the waves shall flood his ship,
And the light shall strike the sails,
And the mast shall burn to ash,
The helm detached and lost at sea,
When all his food is rot and waste,
And all his heart is ash with spite
Whilst his mind angers him,
Whence he would anger more.
But the lighthouse still shines,
Each lense shall shoot a thousand stars,
When none can see, that the lighthouse sees.
There, he can see. He knows his way.
There, a torn ship and a wretched sail,
There was still a wretched man afloat.
Then brought back to shore as its guest,
The lighthouse continued its lightward song
Whilst the man continued leaving it all behind.

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