the light at the end of the lane
is a wicked illusion of sorts
with its siren screams and drawing dreams
it’s a trap with no end of distorts

the beam at the end of the bridge
is a blinding delusion of thought
with its dashing doubts and shameful shouts
it’s a quagmire of senses forgot

the ray at the end of the road
is a blatant evasion of truth
with ersatz ease of daunting degrees
it soon renders your senses uncouth

the gleam at the end of the gale
is the harbinger of a new dawn
but its hopeless hope is but a hoax
for the eclipse is always foregone

While my true passion lies in novel writing, poetry has always held a unique place in my heart. This is just a little something I tapped out during my free time. It’s a bit word-heavy, but I think in the end it gets across what I’m trying to say.