My lighthouse, sits on the hill... But can you see it? Through the fog, the stretch of my light is dim and almost unseen. I strive to shine... a beacon of hope to someone. I need I want I desire I aspire and then I tire. The fog grips me in its icy clutches and the light emitted from my house is extinguished. In this life I strive to lead by example. Do what I do and what I say line up? Does it fall in line under your will? Or am I just a stone edifice that was supposed to direct the lost, only I’m lost myself? How can the blind lead the blind? And how can I lead when I'm blind and don't know that I am? An ongoing trial... striving for pure perfection or close to it.... Direct me Grab me Redefine me Live within me. Let my light pierce the fog once again ~Copyright 2004 "Son of the Daystar" Publishing "Poeta nascitur, non fit." ~The Poet is born, not made.