The Mystery Man, an artist that said “imagery comes naturally to me, but words do not,” wrote me this:::::
Will this love be a north star to my heart?
Or this vess’l crash’d to the oceans wave?
Doubt spews fearful storms to tear us apart.
Conceiving this ocean a welcom’d grave.
Hearken, a light in darkness glows dimly.
A glimmer of hope to show me the way.
Without a home, at sea, lost aimlessly.
Your lighthouse, I find, a welcoming stay.
In this rooted lighthouse I find solace.
Bluest skies, Green pastures, in which I rest.
Together we grow and build a fortress.
I invoke that we tour a lasting quest.
Love has been so harsh to us in the past
I want this truest love to be our last.