Lighthouse
There is a light that does not ask
If you are ready to be found
It sweeps the same dark water
It swept an hour ago
Because that is the only thing
It knows how to be
I’ve been watching it from the window
Where sleep used to live
Three forty seven a.m.
And the mind seems to take the lighthouse
As a fond role model
It returns
Always returns
Even when it promised otherwise
I used to fight the waking
Pressed my face into the pillow
Like a confession
I wasn’t yet ready to make
But you cannot turn off a lighthouse
By wanting the dark
It doesn’t take requests,
Only routes
Insomnia isn’t the absence of rest
It is the presence of a light
That loves its job a little too much
Still sweeping the shore
For something that passed hours ago
Because no one ever told it
The emergency lay rest
With the same ship that brought it to shore
What comes through the window now
Is almost gentle
It doesn’t accuse or judge
Just touches the far wall
And drags itself away again
Like it knows your name
But is too polite to say it
You learn things in the small hours
That daylight buries
The particular weight of a house
Held around you like a breath
Which floorboards remember your footsteps
How silence has its own kind of weather
And a ceiling becomes something
You know too well
And somewhere past the glass
The lighthouse keeps its circuit
Faithful as something with nothing to prove
Unbothered by the ships that never came
Or the ones that came and didn’t need it
Still shining
Because that is the only thing
It was ever asked to do
I stopped asking for sleep around five
Made tea
Watched the beam go out across the water
One last time
It will do this whether I watch or not
That used to feel like loneliness
Tonight it feels like company.
May 24
May 24, 2026 at 10:04 AM UTC
Lighthouse
There is a light that does not ask
If you are ready to be found
It sweeps the same dark water
It swept an hour ago
Because that is the only thing
It knows how to be
I’ve been watching it from the window
Where sleep used to live
Three forty seven a.m.
And the mind seems to take the lighthouse
As a fond role model
It returns
Always returns
Even when it promised otherwise
I used to fight the waking
Pressed my face into the pillow
Like a confession
I wasn’t yet ready to make
But you cannot turn off a lighthouse
By wanting the dark
It doesn’t take requests,
Only routes
Insomnia isn’t the absence of rest
It is the presence of a light
That loves its job a little too much
Still sweeping the shore
For something that passed hours ago
Because no one ever told it
The emergency lay rest
With the same ship that brought it to shore
What comes through the window now
Is almost gentle
It doesn’t accuse or judge
Just touches the far wall
And drags itself away again
Like it knows your name
But is too polite to say it
You learn things in the small hours
That daylight buries
The particular weight of a house
Held around you like a breath
Which floorboards remember your footsteps
How silence has its own kind of weather
And a ceiling becomes something
You know too well
And somewhere past the glass
The lighthouse keeps its circuit
Faithful as something with nothing to prove
Unbothered by the ships that never came
Or the ones that came and didn’t need it
Still shining
Because that is the only thing
It was ever asked to do
I stopped asking for sleep around five
Made tea
Watched the beam go out across the water
One last time
It will do this whether I watch or not
That used to feel like loneliness
Tonight it feels like company.
This is from awhile back but I think I’ll post a couple of my older pieces to see how people respond.
Request permission to use this poem