In Torchlight

That night on the dock was our first kiss by the light of a torch in a moment of bliss with a great Northern Lake stretching out beyond and the chill of autumn coming on. Out into the night on the further shore is a great granite cliff and the rapid's soft roar. Over our heads was a great vault of stars in the cold northern sky in our heavenly hour. What would become of this couple so new in the heart of their song hoping dreams will come true. She won't let time fly but he must do or die. He's frozen in time but must reach for the sky. I must seize the power that makes dreams come true. I must paint the picture and so the picture renew. If I am an artist, then I must be true and be author and actor and audience too. I don't have the option of going along and not being the singer and just being the song. This is a pleasure that is stolen from me in exchange for an answer in the form of a key. I must open the door and only this way be free to live as I must in the way that suits me. Only this way can I become the song once again and be singer as I sing along. It's the life of an artist who's not like the rest who must meet this challenge or never find rest and so serve the others who are doing their best to live out their lives each in their special quest. Each plays their part in the magic of all no one more special or with further to fall. We all work together in a magical scheme where each person's dreaming is part of one dream. We must climb to heaven - each one on their own serving the others and themselves to the bone. And in return we are light as a feather and we know love in infinite measure. With frozen fingers I struggle to free the key from my pocket and the doorway I see. It is barred by the door from its top to the floor. On the other side is the one I adore. With each tick of the clock, we die by degree and must cross the ocean to set ourselves free. We have only seconds in the course of a life to reach for what matters on the edge of a knife. The warmth that is life must be got with a knife that's our friend in the wilderness throughout our life. We must make our way and so our part play to make our living each in his own way. There is a threshold the artist must cross that is the turn of the key in that lock where dreams come alive and his creations thrive in the scheme of the dream he has sought to contrive. There can be a time, at a first fumbling blind when fear overtakes both poet and rhyme and one must give all to answer the call to give wing to the dream even after the fall. Somewhere in the torchlight, she's waiting for me. Is she still that woman or another I'll see. I must close that distance and be already free. Then in that true light, together we'll be. Then we'll have fun and live life on the run wild and free as the lake and the tree, the rock and the birds and the love in our words in the country and city and all of the world.