Modern Romanticism

You are the lighthouse
Amid my storm,
The guide,
While my sails are worn.
I am cracked by my hull,
As you never let me sink
Into my own debris,
In my own tears,
By my own fears.

You are merciful,
As I've been fanciful
In seeing my pain wither away,
In desiring my arms to drown it
In this sea of myself.
My own reflection
Is a mere disposition,
Is a mere faltering
In all my shouldering
Of aching sadness,
Of missing gladness.

I've been wasteful,
While you've been tasteful
In the decor to my solace.
You've been the anchor
To my sorrow.
You've been the cradle
From where I wallow.
You are to where
I fall silent,
As my cries are gone,
As I lift myself to the dawn.