Rated: E · Poetry · Entertainment · #2277112
A welcome beacon warning ships.
|The lighthouse stands out in the storm|
and shines it flashing light,
a welcome beacon warning ships
on this most darkened night.
This sentinel has seen its share
of ships destroyed by waves.
It’s been the witness to the plight
of seamen sent to graves.
Beneath the foamy, angry sea
far deep and dark below,
lie scattered ruins of capsized craft
where octopuses grow.
There is a man who lives out there.
The lighthouse is his care.
Not many folks could weather that.
No, few would even dare.
He lives alone all by himself
within those lighthouse walls,
with constant winds and pounding surf
and nearby seagull calls.
When days are calm he takes his rest
and stares out at the sea,
remembering when he was young
and how this came to be.
He’d been a sailor once himself
and he went off to war.
Oh, he was whole and handsome then,
something he was no more.
Now he finds solace there at last,
the lighthouse his domain.
He doesn’t need or want for more
so there he will remain.
His only joy is what he does,
keeping that candle bright,
to usher sailors safely home
through dark and stormy nights.