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rig Jan 17
by the cliffs of london
it stands, loving the sky
silently with fiery
signs of blissful promise.
the lisbon ship awaits
at berlin by the sea.
AB Yousuf Dec 2020
The long and winding stairs, end their climb in front of stars,
far beyond the pulse of life, a shelter from man's scars.

Drag my body upwards, round and round the cobbled flight,
looming at the peak there waits a massive, mirrored light.

It crowns the concrete tower, metal jewel gleaming through dark,
beckons tired and weary souls towards its distant spark.

There's light left so I wait, let the calm wash over me,
quiet save for chirping bugs and endless, shifting sea.

Eyes follow the coastline, tracing rocks along the shore,
water churns and rages, droning builds into a roar.

Something in the silence renders time into a blur,
thoughts drift to my past, then on occasion, drift to her.

Night begins to spread and now its shadow touches land,
darkness slowly sets with every movement of the hand.

Summon light from sleep, its metal eye opens to black,
beams across the sky, while I await a signal back.

Minutes add like notches, on the wall of someone's cell,
my ears strain for the distant sound of ship's arriving bell.

This night is like the rest, so the call returns unmet,
void remains the void, a sense of emptiness besets.

Every night I burn the light, and solitude is stark.
Sit in silence at my post and signal in the dark.
Simone13 Dec 2020
I am a lighthouse
My light shines you ashore
Away from the boulders  
When you can’t see Anymore

I am a lighthouse
I guide you through the storm
But when I am used
I am not wanted anymore

I am your lighthouse
But still I am alone
My purpose is solely
To guide you back home
Brian Turner Dec 2020
The lighthouse man doesn't want to know anyone
He sits in solitude
Staring at the swirling seas
Wandering up and down the endless stairs

Fingers and thumbs fat with muscles
Salted sweat on skin
Working on the light fixtures
No word he utters

No visitors today
None scheduled for tomorrow
Steam boils off the kettle
More tinned food in fine fettle

Time stands still here
No interruptions
He meditates on his soul
What there is, he controls

No knowledge he shares
Turning on the light
To ward off danger
To ward off strangers from his world
Imagining life in solitude as a Lighthouse man. I want to go there.
spacewtchhh Dec 2020
I love oceans.
I would sit on the shore with massive waves hitting this body of mine
With no one to see and no one to be with.

My lighthouse tried to fill in and gleam,
Yet I swerve,
Yet I ran away from the luminescence it gave.

I leap into the ocean and drown myself into the water,
And within I struggle
Within I suffocate under.

I am terrified of oceans
Yet I feel secure
Yet I could feel the warmth it provides inside.
Erik Luo Dec 2020
The lighthouse on the shore
Shed light on the source
Of the beauty and power
In that waves and thunder

I stood before the storm
Hearing the thud and claps
A sound so familiar
Yet filled, with unknown horror

I saw the dark shadows
As they crashed on the shore
Breaking my body
And dissolving my words

Once again I tried
To let go of the water
Only to leave nothing
As I become the shore

Hitting by the water
Through the calms and anger
As I keep the lighthouse
in this beautiful horror
e l hannah Nov 2020
here it sits
hidden behind the fog
that rolls in on salty air
its dizzying staircase leads
to a perch overseeing the murky water
a view once sought out, now seen
too many times
the light is almost burnt out
from years of constant use
a lifetime of steering ships clear
from a jagged, rocky death
a once simple responsibility
that grew over time
a never-ending obligation
alone it stands
no visitors, as the time
for trips to its land
are long gone with the past
overrun by trees and bushes
that reach up with open palms
the light flickers painfully
hope is wearing thin
in the end, it lets out a sigh
barely heard above the roar of waves
as its light turns on once more
though it begs
just once
for it to be dark.
the first of thirty poems written in november
Henrie Diosa Nov 2020
Shall I march into the sea tonight?
The lighthouse-keeper asks.
The light is lit; the wind is wound;
I have no other tasks.
The rains have cycled fifty times
Since they last turned on me;
Shall I bar the windows shut tonight,
or march into the sea?

Who will find me lost at sea tonight?
The lighthouse-keeper thinks,
When shepherds turn their flock indoors,
And the barkeep turns to drink.
I am the lighthouse-keeper, but
I do not have to be;
They'll find another keeper when
They find me lost at sea.

And if the sea won't take me, love,
The lighthouse-keeper sighs,
No candle on my windowsill
Is watched by no-one's eyes —
No shadow's crossed my threshold's bounds
Since I was thirty-three —
With stones inside my pockets
Let me march into the sea.

Give me no pauper's funeral,
The lighthouse-keeper sings,
Though scant be the inheritance
You'll cobble from my things.
If my debtors come a-calling,
Tell them, forfeit every fee —
Or, if they are truly greedy,
Let them find me lost at sea.
You ever try to write a poem for the funsies and it comes out sad? The prompt for this one was "Present options on the first line of your poem" from Leandro & Mai (@leandroandmai on Instagram). I think it was also influenced by the latest Buzzfeed Unsolved video about the Flannan Isles Lighthouse Keepers. Also, it's been windy and rainy and cold lately.
Kenneth Gray Oct 2020
Broken hearts a flailing,
Reaching out for something more.
Broken hearts a yearning,
For one whom to adore.

Who will it be?
Who is the one?
Who will reach the top,
When all is said and done?

It is not enough!
So much more is needed!
Is it even possible?
Is the human heart defeated?
Is the human spirit fading,
Whilst stumbling in the dark?
Where is our higher power?
Awaiting to light the spark?
Oh LORD wilt thou arise,
To be our haven and our tower?
Come forward LORD and rescue us,
Amongst our final hour!

Desperately searching hither,
Eager eyes search for THE LORD.
God, you are their tower!
Let their scanning, be not ignored!
God, you are their lighthouse.
May you be visible unto their eyes.
God, you are their haven.
Save this world before it dies!

Trust me - I know this world seems putrid,
False veils forced over eyes.
Faith and hope are gobbled up,
seemingly, before one even tries.
There's one akin to mysteries,
There's one that sees the light,
I know THE LIGHT is covered up,
In never-ending night.

I am here to tell you
Take cheer - tho' you be weak,
Blessed are the poor in spirit,
Blessed are the meek!
Knock, my friend, and you shall find,
The ONE whom we all seek!

Fret no more my friends, relax!
There's no more need for flailing!
The GOOD LORD touches hearts,
HE is the one prevailing!

With hearts so full, so full of life,
There's no more need for yearning!
He is the one whom we'll adore,
This fact you'll soon be learning!
Everything going on with the 2020 election was bothering me. I was feeling like people were looking for answers in the wrong place. As if people thought the president was the one. I just felt like people should be looking to God instead. So that idea led me to right this poem.
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