Ark of the Lost Angels

Paramount Theatre, Asbury Park, New Jersey (Credit: Author)

We see the signs we wish,
Blinding our mind and soul to contradictions,
While the truth we seek is so infuriatingly beyond reach.
If only we didn't block our eyes with funhouse mirrors. 

Familiar dance floors stand silent but for bitter wind,
Scattering sand down deserted streets
Between silent dwelling places,
Awaiting their seasonal resurrections. 

A lighthouse once necessary in this grey
Turned to a relic, a museum, 
A darkened remnant of ages past,
And how easy it is to get lost under murky skies. 

The taste of salt on the air the waves carry to shore,
Footfalls on faded boards drowned out 
By the admissions we dare not make aloud,
Fearful of daring the universe to deny a desire. 

The barest emergence of kaleidoscope dreams
Weighed down by ocean rain and contemplation,
Sea fog obscuring, blurring, and incurring
Anguish at a destiny just out of reach.

The cruel kiss of fate,
Who bites our lip and pulls away,
Daring us to follow
A partner we will never hold again. 

The pain of the past is such an intimately familiar consort. 
Perhaps a victory is merely navigating the sea fog,
Using what shrouded radiance our eyes strain to spot
As beacons towards our next beginning.