Theme Week: Heroes – 3
Lighthouse
He saw her in calm waters,
Sailing peaceful on the sea.
He marveled at the beauty
In the way her heart was free.
She sang into the breeze, and
Pulled with fervor at her sail,
She smiled into sunlight
And left laughter in her trail.
He saw her when the storm came,
And the waves threw her about,
She tried to steer to safety,
But could not find her way out.
The wind rushed, loud and heavy,
And the rain came crashing down,
She sailed on, stern and driven,
But he feared that she would drown.
He loved her in the darkness,
As he’d loved her in the light,
And burned to watch her struggle
All alone within the night.
And so he drove his heart down
Into truth, like stakes in stone,
And lit himself with strength, so
She could always see it shown.
He would not see her anchored
By the tempest, so he swore
That he would be her lighthouse
Standing steady on the shore.
– s. Clark
RISE
Weary soul, lost and abandoned,
What did you last have your hand in
That was worth the measure of your time?
In this life, so frail and fleeting,
You have just one, red heart beating.
When did you last step up to the line?
When did you give up the battle,
Fall into the herd, like cattle?
Can your soul still hear the burning call?
How much was your silence bought for,
Laying down the cause you fought for?
Rise! There are some mountains worth the fall.
– s. Clark
They Are Beautiful
They are beautiful.
the way he looks at her,
like he can’t believe she sits there,
real, and raw, and regal before him.
He grips her hand like a lifeline,
and she traces her fingers down his arm
like a map back to shore.
They keep inching toward each other,
entangling further and further across the table,
hearts barely held apart by separate bodies.
He is her world,
and she is the universe through which he spins,
madly, wildly, flying,
but tethered in orbit
by the assurance of her hold.
They exist in their own space,
rolling through the void,
infinitesimal as dust, immense as galaxies,
and they are beautiful.
– s. Clark
Missing Piece
She was beautiful.
The way her hair twisted
and fell across rose-stained cheeks,
like soft, dark smoke, curling
over a pale, spring morning.
Her lips were pink and parted
in an invitation.
The way she hid her eyes halfway
beneath blushful, batting lashes
and sang her words like a lullaby.
She moved like the wind,
alternatingly cool and coy.
And he thought, as he watched her,
as we all hope to, in our time,
that this was perhaps the missing piece
of him, come home at last to rest.
– s. Clark
A Worthy Destruction
He was beautiful.
The way his grin sparked in his eyes
and teased his mouth into a tilt.
His gaze was bold and brown,
and full of mischief.
His voice was a storm in her ears
that left her mind clouded.
He wore his strength softly,
gentle hands with scarred knuckles,
calm, composured confidence.
And she wondered, as she watched him,
as we all do, in our way,
whether this might just be a person
worth being destroyed for.
– s. Clark
Resolutioner
She stood like an island
Large, and isolated in an unfamiliar place.
Her skin rippled like waves
As she heavy-hoisted up an iron bar
With black ends printed in white: “15lbs”.
Sweat poured from her head like rain,
And her arms flapped as they pumped the weights.
A sky-blue shirt stretched over her rolls ordered,
“Just do it.” And she did,
Unheeding and uncaring of the glances.
She warmly returned my smile, ah the sun,
Essential to any growing life.
– s. Clark
Vanity
He was the type of guy
who knew how handsome he was,
and acted like it.
Self-satisfied smirk on a chiseled jaw,
dismissive side-glance from ocean-blue eyes.
He oozed false charm like syrup,
and made the room feel sticky.
Scratching the careful stubble on his chin,
he surveyed his arena.
One girl caught his eye and smiled warmly,
he chuckled, and kept searching.
Paused, swooping down
on a lovely brunette in the corner.
He asked what she was working on
and listened for a moment,
before spinning the world back to its orbit
and revealing his archive of achievements.
And perhaps he was honest,
in word, if not manner.
When she left, he took a moment
then slipped across the room,
striking up the same conversation
with a different girl,
who had not seen the first.
And the girl who smiled stood,
chuckled in her own turn,
and threw away the trash he left behind
for someone lesser to clean,
as the second target stood
and said goodbye.
– s. Clark
Shigé Clark Writing 