In Torchlight Poem by Vishal Sharma

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.