Light I Lit

The sound of your voice
fades in and out,
but I guess I believe you
without a doubt.
There are so many words
you know nothing about
and - like a child held captive -
I'll scream and shout.
You think you're so smooth,
but you lack class and clout.
Souring, searching, but
stuck so still,
motionless waves that
claim their kill,
I'm hungry and hunted;
you'll get your fill.
Your shadow behind me:
the chase is your thrill.
Once, I thought it made sense;
it was a perfect fit,
but you showed your knives
and you threw and it hit
and you outsmarted me
with your charm and wit.
But you're soft and you're warm
and what I know I can't admit,
so when you're on your way back home
follow that light I lit.

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"This little light of mine, shine bright and blind the reaper's eyes, hear you stomping on the tops of pines. We rest as death lays on his knife." Wild Sweet Orange An Atlas To Follow

"'If it wasn't for the mist we could see your home across the bay,' said Gatsby. 'You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock.'" F.S. Scott Fitzgerald The Great Gatsby