Lighthouse, Me

When I look at him, all I see is a lonesome figure
The rains, the gale, the sun strive to disfigure
Yet the sheen over the phlegmatic tower doesn’t fade
As he stands tall above the brown, mucky masquerade
As he takes his stand, the aura of light engulfs
And he guides all that sail into his gulfs
Such is the lighthouse I see
When I close my eyes and look at me.

Peculiar is the enigma surrounding the enlightening one
The sea of moments gushes and rushes under the sun
Jealous is he, of the sun and his grandiose ways
As he is rendered useless in ennui, under its rays
Every now and then, strikes an apocalyptic storm
Leaving a lamenting strain, melancholic and warm
Such is the lighthouse I see
When I close my eyes and I look at me

Placidly he stands, aiming at the distant bliss
Where the orange skies and the blue waters kiss
Is it the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end?
To reach it, the smoky clouds he has to transcend
Scowling at it, toiling like a worker-bee
To attain eternal quietus; C’est la vie
Such is the lighthouse I see
When I close my eyes and I look at me

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