Imprisoned on this salty shore where, in my dreams, I bide, I cast a stare to distant star and sigh in my despair. Did ever sun rise on this lonely strand? Or was it always grey twilight here? The only sounds I hear come from the surf that surges up the shingle and from the mounting gale that starts to shred the leaves of palms that block my way behind.
I stand and wait and hope to see a light that no star has shed on me, but comes instead from distant lantern swinging on a line, on a boat, far out to sea. For that must mean my friend has come for me, a friend I do not know, who somehow knows my desperate plight, so comes to rescue me.
And were I on a boat of mine, upon those fateful seas, I too would sail a course in hope of finding souls to save.
But as before, no lantern shines, no friend will come this time. The same shore waits for further dreams, when despair will prod my hope to stir, and I will stare across the waves, and hope again in vain.
Anatomy of Despair 