To the Lighthouse (poem of mine)

The day bores me blue,
And the hours, tighten as a wire.
But the night brings a craving,
For the cradle
For a tiredness that will never tire.

While the crude lisp of winter
watches, like a Serpent,
on my days,
My home is a home between arms,
And your comfort
Keeps weather at bay.

Your eyes,
They will warm these dry embers
In the long thawing
Of my black night.
And these ships will reel on my shorefront,
Aimless as white, patterned kites.

For every part of me is seeking,
As a gale that tears through a storm,
Yet the seeker will surely be brought,
To the lighthouse,
Where the light may be born.