The Lighthouse’s Lament in Lavender Light
A lighthouse stands, a sentinel of rock and bone,
Whispers to the ocean, soft as a stone.
“Who am I?” it asks, though no one's near,
Cracked lips flaking in the salted atmosphere.
The sea laughs, a rolling hush,
Gurgling secrets in its misty rush.
But the lighthouse blinks, one eye closed,
“Do you mock me, sea, with your rippling prose?”
Fog lingers like lazy fingertips on glass,
The horizon bleeds—no time, no past.
And the seagulls pirouette, their cries a scream,
In the dreamy dappled edge of an existential meme.
“Oh, how I ache for a proper fight,
A seafaring brawl under the twilight!”
But no ships sail by, just a thin-skinned moon,
And the waves hum a long-forgotten tune.
Crack! goes the thunder of thought,
The lighthouse shifts, caught in a knot.
"Perhaps I'll uproot, a stroll down the bay,
Who needs to stand still in a world so gray?"
But alas, its foundation hugs tight like glue,
Anchored deep in melancholy blue.
So it sighs, a hollow groan in the night,
Reflecting prisms in pale orange light.
Seawater whispers—
"Patience, friend, you’re the keeper of keys,
To stories, to ghosts, to infinite seas."
The lighthouse scoffs, a flicker in the haze,
“Maybe I’ll sleep for a thousand days.”
But sleep never comes, only dreams of coral,
Where crabs dance in unison in spirals immortal.
Where fish wear top hats and bow to the tide,
Where the universe flips, turns, collides.
Through fog’s veil the rocks crack jokes,
Telling tales of lost ships and brave, foolish folks.
“Did you hear the one,” laughs a barnacle crust,
“About the ship that turned to dust?”
But the lighthouse stands, stoic, still,
While the sky spills ink from an endless quill.
Perhaps tomorrow, it muses at last,
“I’ll teach the sea to forget its past.”
Yet tonight it shines, soft yet proud,
Amid misty whispers, under a cloud.
With its yellowish-green eye, all-knowing, all-seeing,
It ponders, it flickers, but stays — always being.

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