My paint wears thin, torn and exposed interior.
The waves clash against my exterior.
The salt stings beyond belief
The water has seeped through.

The keeper has left,
he could not handle the rotted wood any longer.
I wallow weakly, hoping for the decay to be noticed.
Hoping for what won't come.
My red and white paint turned tattered burgundy.
The lights barely shimmer anymore.

Indefensible to the onslaught of waves;
never taught how to stand tall against the water.
Perhaps the foundations weren't solid enough.

The salt-ridden water permeates through,
The rot is undeniably visible.
The keeper notices but does not falter.

His eye shines upon me for but a moment,
cold and pitiless gaze;
He must care no longer.