I watch them, from my self-righteous tower of alabaster solitude; of calm candlelight and chaotic shadow.

One by one the ships raise their sails.
Each flag a color of its own, each flag caught by a different wind, sailing, sailing out to sea.
They trace aimless patterns across the waves, weaving and crossing; drawing smooth ripples out behind them for the light and shadow to play in.

Still I watch.
Still; I watch.
The candlelight masks me from the darkness outside and I muse quietly, wondering how far the fleets have sailed.
How close they have touched the horizon;
the dark horizon over which the bright sun flees from the tyranny of the moon.
I turn; twisting up and up and up to shine my light, to warn them.

Stay away.

I am the coastline, you are the sea.

Stay away.

My guiding light pushes lost ships away from the lonely coast that twists, slithering out north and south beyond my reach.

When the fog rolls in again, I shine my light ever brighter:
Stay away, stay away.

The thick clouds disguise the cruel, twisting cliffs, turning them soft and diffused;
smiling, inviting sandy cliffs that beckon each ship with their mystique,
their unfocused, slippery allure.

But my light stretches out desperately across the rolling waves.

Stay away.

No ship deserves this fate,
hull sprawled out in pieces across this disparate shore, waves crashing new salt over open wounds again and again until finally;
the bite is just a dull sting, counting the grains of sand they lay against.

My light screams out, crashing titan-like with the tide that erodes these stalactite cliffs into needles, stretching into the fog to graze starboard and port, seeking to draw fresh blood from wooden depths.

Stay away.