Scorched is the land 'neath where my feet lie,
where rain burns black in the dark, night sky.
A shore lines the sea but a stone's throw away,
whilst waves beat stones into soft, sandy slaves.
They ebb and flow, erode and build,
crush and caress; as a lover's feud.
Even seven leagues below, there shines a shimmer of light:
each sliver so pale, yet there's something in sight.
Like a flame on a wall in a makeshift niche,
from a distance, great, and somewhat discreet.
It burns and glows, flickers and fades,
reaches and calls, as a guide to faith.
I felt a kind of resignation or sadness in this poem that made me think of doubt for some reason and I'm not sure why as yet. I will read it again and again as I do with most of your poems. I have missed reading your work so it's good for my brain to kick start back into thinking.
Haha thank you Hellon, I'm glad you enjoyed it :) The best part of this is seeing all the different ways people around the world can interpret what I post. Sometimes it could be a polar opposite, which makes it all the more interesting.