Lighthouse Keeper's Lament

Atop this lonely promontory,

I tend the light that warns the sea.
Night after night, year after year,
Just the waves, the gulls, and me.

The spiral stairs, I've climbed them

all,
Ten thousand times or maybe more.
My footsteps echo in this tower,
As constant as the ocean's roar.

I polish brass and trim the wick,

Ensure the lens stays crystal clear.
For lives depend on this bright beam,
To guide them safe when skies are
drear.

The logbook fills with days unmarked,

Each entry much the same as last.
"All quiet," I write, and wonder when
My own ship might come sailing past.

From my high perch, I watch the world,

Ships pass by, but never land.
Their lights like stars upon the water,
Constellations on the sand.

The wind, my only conversation,

Whispers tales of distant shores.
Of bustling ports and lively harbors,
Lives so different from my chores.

At times, the fog rolls in so thick,

It seems to swallow up the light.
I sound the horn, a mournful bellow,
Piercing through the shrouded night.

In storms, the waves crash wild below,

The tower sways, but stands its ground.
I clutch the rail and face the gale,
Praying all ships are safe and sound.

Some nights, I dream of leaving here,

Of joining life on solid land.
But morning comes, the light needs
tending,
Duty tethers heart and hand.

The seasons change, yet nothing

changes,
In this solitary life I've made.
Summer's warmth or winter's chill,
The light must shine, I must not fade.

They say I'm a hero, guardian of the

sea,
But heroism's a lonely art.
I keep watch so others may sail free,
While anchored here, apart.

So I remain, steadfast, alone,

My purpose clear, if life obscure.
A human heart in a tower of stone,
The keeper of the light, unsure.