Poetry – The Guardian




A storm forced sea batters

Kelp obscured cliffs.

The frosty mist,

Deluge the whistling rock

And mortar cone walls.


In the distance,

A single powerful light is seen,

Flooding the sapphire blues of the water.

Like a mother’s soothing hand

On the back of the belligerent child

that is the sea.


A single structure

Standing in the middle of a raging sea.

Stone walls and bright light.

It leaves you wondering…

It leaves you wanting…

What mysteries do you house?

What wonders fill you?


A solitary door looms,

Like a single guard daring you to enter.

“Enter at your own peril!”

It seems to scream.

Inside, spiral stairs,

Twisting and turning like a sea-monster

Lead to rooms of glass walls.


With rotating lighting unit,

In its center,

And a walkway made of stone as old as time,

Your hands, laid on intricate artwork made of metal…

The handrail.

You stare out.

From the solace of the lighthouse.


The sailor’s guiding light pierces,

Through fog saturated night air,

Showing a Squall’s violently,

Crested waters.


To one side, a cove,

Whose beaches go undisturbed.

Behind the cliff gates,

Atop which stands a silent guardian.


Protector, savior.

Staring out,

These waters are as treacherous as they are beautiful.

Swallowing sailors, old and green alike.

The guardian does not rest.

He takes no day off.

For fates rest in his hands.

The guardian makes the difference between life and death




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