Destination

​
​Upon an ocean of unknown wild,
child to the world,
rocked in turned lumber,
sheltered in slumber. 
 
Awoken to a wake,
wave of frigid translucence crests. 
Providing shock to the chest,
cold salty breath draws in the chill. 
 
In the distance a sight,
light, glitters off the oceans fight.
Once seen, then past, the next seen at last,
closed in by discoursed seas,
guiding ships home, to calm seas, future peace.
 
Prismatically purposeful in the warning,
guidance of a beaconed lighthouse shore. 
For missed is the message, once, but no more. 
 
Beacons evenly distributed, for when one’s light is unable to be seen,
another is on the mornings horizon.
An array of rays, bright yet distant,
a calling to steer toward our internal light,
sight to remove our rocky shores, covered in turbulent darkness. 
 
The turning of a starlit spectrum,
brought to glow by the warmth of sunlight, on a new day. 
The harbor shown near,
but you must take the helm, and steer. 
Destination