The Tinderbox
The lone grey lighthouse perched heavily upon its peak
Borrowing chains and rope sodden, encrusted in the sea’s corrosive breath,
A gift to hold her crown from falling to a watery grave
Glaring listlessly across that empty, tumultuous bay,
And whose temperament wards against the likes of men, ship and flotsam
Moans deeply in its ancient aches, its eyes swollen and unlit
Breathing that dark and chilling wind and whistling mournfully through its eyes
She bears the faded emblem of a spur, vivid red and orange and
Chiselled at the name of the brave young soul who tended to her
While hardy shrubs and fiery daffodils adorn her path,
Shaken and lost and seldom used
Though the sonorous tales of the keeper are n’er forgotten
And time aids to quench her sorrow –
A seafarer approaches with great trepidation!
No stars shine above this quiet presence
A force of temperance to tame that outlandish sea
His raft pulled steady without wind to guide its sails
And a stern, scarred face hidden by mantle,
Ready to make landing upon uncertain ground
With a barrel of small and precious things
The lone grey lighthouse perched heavily upon its peak
Moaned and shook the cares of age from her chains
Staring down upon the burdened seafaring soul
Seeking lodging, fire and peace without a single coin
And uttered, wordlessly, a meaning the tower had known
For its door swung open and a cascade of stairs presented
The young seafaring soul, worn and weary by travel
Became nostalgic by the scent of frankincense and
The bitter hint of lavender beneath the air current
And having ascended to the tower’s peak
Removed the tinderbox and flint from his pocket
To burn the fires of his renewal
And the man with the mantle about him said:
“I have brought to this place many a fine thing;
From dragon’s blood to golden thread,
The lover’s pain and the promise of to-morrow
That thy eaves may flourish in joy for my return
And another fair passing soul
Shall lodge with me, bathing in the wines of sanguinity;
There will be the rise and fall of kingdoms come
And the generous alms by the merchant’s thumb,
When our food turns sour and the eve grows cold
We can rest upon our weary laurels’ hold
For from this fertile earth of self-sameness
A great pride brings things needful and beyond.”
Yet the vessels and raft beneath her gaze would not still
And the tinder and flint could not light a spark
No distant ship did dock to share its secrets
Nor a merchant pass by to barter
Naught moved but the beating heart of the anxious seafarer
Discontent with the mere treasures by his feet
With a violent whip and sudden roar the sky enraged in darkest grey
Clouds of fury gathered low and loudly with a vast cacophonic dance of rain;
The lone grey lighthouse perched heavily upon its peak
Shook away suddenly from her ageless chains and encrusted rope
And with a deft and brutal flash from the heavens came a stunning blow
A fierce bolt of lightning did shake that elder crown from its place
The young seafaring soul, worn and weary by travel
Became nostalgic by the beckoning of experience in faraway places
And faces unfamiliar and hands as skilled as sages
Decidedly, he left his sacred treasures by the fire’s mane to stay
Taking his raft for another chance upon the sea
And from that perilous lesson he learned the true way home.
Comments are closed.
