we look for lighthouses

and yet they are

far and few

we search for anchors

in a life of storms

that constantly brew

we look for someone

to walk us home

and yet home

is so very far away

we search for light

and yet


it shines most every day

perhaps we are being searched

and yet pretend

to look the other way

the reason for seasons

we plant seeds

we bloom

we fall

petals on the ground

we eventually lose all

and yet we search for lighthouses

in a sea of ambiguity

drifting in lifeboats

where nothing seems to matter

and yet the currents

feel so very rote

day after day

unlike the end of time

in someone else’s paradoxical

eerie kind of rhyme