The Shore of Death
Somewhere off a rocky coast in Maine,
there’s a lighthouse built for people like me,
who become blinded by the comfort of darkness.
It seemed so enticing and became even more addictive.
The darkness swallowed my soul with the rush of a tide.
My smooth-sailing turned into a torrent of danger,
which, given our friendship, I failed to recognize.
I drove myself to the shore of death,
where the lighthouse eye was waiting,
ready to shine its light upon a searching soul.