Lighthouse

I stumble in the midst of sounds,
on a wet steep stairs.
Pushing handle became a task
- with effort I pass doors by.

It is always conscious trip
in the corridor of quiet slips.
Claustrophobically tight,
with barely any sight.
It makes me dizzy
- doing so many rounds.

Finally at the top -
where many more have died.
I try to make a stand,
and now I can see why. 

Unclear - what my purpose in here is.
I see shining stars, dying lights.
But rarely, as they tend to hide.
I can't really tell what it is,
but I try to see past its 
monstrous mask. 


The scope - I use to look at things
narrows down every time I try to see. 
While my sight - so imperfect
- makes me think.
I will never know the nature
of what comes to me.

There is only this black cat,
unpromptedly making rumbling sounds,
jumping in and out.
Like it lost its mind,
casting focus through hypnotic eyes,
throwing anchor far beyond the line - 
Where they meet,
The sea and the sky.