The lighthouse of Dover
The white of the lighthouse blinds,
And the depth of the cliff finds,
My figure above it.
The salt in the sea,
The waves in my eyes,
Makes me feel more alike, more wise,
As the water in which I will soon be.
There are no stairs on my way down,
No simplicity to my descent,
No grace in falling like a clown,
For my pain, and pride bent.
Piercing in its cold, thrilling in its rush,
Like a car whose speed I will never feel,
And in the end,
Nothing to spill.
But drown in the white of the lighthouse of Dover, only to be pure.
Again.