The Lighthouse

Once, there was a lighthouse standing tall,

Lost in the fog, unseen by all.

It cast its light, hoping to guide,

Yet no one saw the truth inside.

Two moons danced close, but never near,

Their glow was gentle, yet unclear.

They circled ‘round with hollow grace,

But never touched the lighthouse’s face.

Two fires burned on distant shores,

Their warmth was kind, but nothing more.

They flickered softly, unsure of what,

Lay buried deep in waters, lost.

And then, there came a golden sun,

A warmth that shone, yet never won.

It stretched its rays, but stayed too far,

A distant promise, a fading star.

The lighthouse reached with silent plea,

Its heart full of hope, yet yearning to be free.

But the sun remained beyond its grasp,

A fleeting warmth that could not last.

Another ember, cold and pale,

Passed through the night with a ghostly trail.

It fed on fire the lighthouse couldn’t see,

Leaving behind ashes, and memories.

The last was gentle, a steady spark,

Its light skimmed softly through the dark.

It circled close with words so sweet,

Yet never sought the depths beneath.

In the distance, the lighthouse wept,

For beneath its beams, secrets slept.

Walls were built from stories untold,

A shelter forged in silence, cold.

In the quiet dark, the lighthouse stayed,

With its heart, untold, decayed.

Each word it spoke, a thread so thin,

Barely holding what was held within.

The lighthouse stood, a silent well,

Pouring out what it couldn’t tell.

A spirit spun from fragile grace,

Yet never found a warm embrace.

But one day, it turned toward the sky,

And whispered softly, with a sigh,

"I’ll leave these skies, the veiled shore,

To find a night that asks no more."

And so it left, the fog behind,

Seeking a place where truth could shine.

A place where it could breathe again,

And leave the shadows, leave the pain.