I was the light house gauging the trouble
crashing on the green seas beneath my
window. Rough seas, vocal waves of
perpetual ship wrecks..

I would gaze upon the shoreline
of my view, looking for any trouble
that could wash ashore. Momentary
riptides of hormonal adolescence gained.

What could take a life, a single moment of
not watching the shore. So I shone my  
gaze upon another's abandoned hopes,
leading them from the rocks of anguish..

That day I was the lighthouse of reality,
when below waves were gathering.
I was a light in moments of disarray,
But on that day no one washed ashore.