The Lighthouse Has no Shore, 2007

I never got to see,
My living dream beside the Sea—
or be with dreams fulfilled.
A thousand miles,
a thousand smiles,
blind with outstretched hands;
marching forward in the dark,
I walk to Neverland.
Night’s veil falls before my eyes,
a carousel of dreams go by.

The land of dreams goes round, and
round,
and flutters by the eye,
a sobbing face lined carousel.
Dreamt of by a man who lies,
on his back, with his eyes closed,
looking at the sky—
for a story just to tell,
some love me lullaby.
There I lay, and fantasize,
out in the field where I can lay,
with nothing left for me to say.

Just idly rhyming in my head,
as Sol our candle slept.
Awake, still, I lay in bed,
creating verses in my head.
Yawning, our Golden candle sleeps.
In this dream of mine, I look—
in places and in time—
because somewhere, some lady fair,
rehearses all her lines.

In this dream, I often look,
with no idea what to find.
Is it just redundant circles—
inside my broken mind?
But in this dream,
from where we are,
a thousand miles from shore.

The lighthouse light,
shatters the night,
a golden field at last.
The ocean’s sound,
and birds around,
make music as we pass.
The lighthouse light,
just out of sight,
attaches to no shore.
Sailors never find the land,
but look forever more.

I never made it to that sea of blue,
to be with dreams come true.
I walked forever in the dark,
under the seven skies,
with a portrait of a saddened angel,
imprinted on my eyes.

And in that glimpse, her forlorn smile,
I felt that way myself.
Halfway there, I called her up,
“I’m not here,” a woman spoke.
“I am just a dream—
A subconscious visual,
a desire not yet seen.”

Like San Francisco, on the page,
an image to me tells,
line after line, it strums, and strains,
as letters from the story rain.
And we the story, yearn, in vain,
until the urges we restrain,
and kill desire that remains,
our hope no more maintained.

And if I made it there,
what then?
In Elysian Fields forever spend?
Or would I arrive, only to find,
no reason to be there, in my mind,
and walk a thousand miles,
in anger, to forget,
what I was looking for—
no matter what I’ll look for more.

Knowing that I looked for something,
though what it was I did not know.
And if I ever have a chance,
I’ll steal a ticket to the Heavens,
and in secret go.
I’ll stand there in those fields,
confused,
with meaning found,
all answers knew,
with nothing left for me to do.

Amnesia steals the memories,
like apples plucked by Eve.
Though even there, I wouldn’t care,
or have a thought of me.
I placed a call when I arrived,
but Juliette lost her phone.
Unfulfilled again, in shame,
Romeo walked home.

While on that road, God placed a call,
I didn’t hear it ring.
He didn’t leave a callback number;
He didn’t say a thing.

In that dream world far away,
where I dreamed that I could play,
and from this dull world hide,
where all anxieties subside;
to make it where I wished to go,
to be there in San Francisco.
I saw the lighthouse,
slits of light,
but never saw the shore—
and bounced around, as in a storm,
just to be tossed by more,
where in the pale night sky,
light stole by in narrow slits.
Just glimpses of a dream once chased,
by amnesia stole away—
and inch by inch it seems to take,
fragments of my angels face.
Leaving me with opaque words,
describing sounds I never heard.

The beauty of the lighthouse,
although it had no shore,
was marvelous to see.
It’s brilliant light, that shined all night,
in brilliant golden beams.
It was enough, itself alone,
to make us lost moths flutter on.

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