The Forgotten Lighthouse

Stark against the twilight sky,

A sentinel of bygone days.
Paint-stripped walls and rusted rails,
Tell tales of salt and spray.

Spiral stairs wind upward still,

Each step a creak of memory.
Keeper's quarters, long abandoned,
Whisper of a life at sea.

The great glass lens sits tarnished,

Its guiding beam long dark.
No ships to warn of treacherous shores,
No sailors' lives to mark.

Waves crash on rocks below,

A ceaseless, mournful song.
The lighthouse stands in silence,
Duty done, vigil long.

Gulls nest in empty windows,

Where once a family dwelled.
Their cries echo through hollow rooms,
Where laughter once had swelled.
The log book lies forgotten,
Its pages damp and curled.
Final entry faded,
The last watch unfurled.

Outside, the path grows over,

No footsteps mark the way.
The lighthouse keeper's garden,
Now wild and in decay.

The fog horn, once commanding,

Hangs mute in salty air.
Its voice, once heard for miles,
Now silent in despair.

At night, some say they see it,

A phantom light aglow.
As if the tower remembers,
Its purpose long ago.

But dawn reveals the truth of time,

No beam splits morning haze.
Just weathered stone and rusted metal,
Remnants of bygone days.

The lighthouse stands defiant,

Against the changing tide.
A monument to those who served,
And those the sea denied.

In charts, it's marked "inactive,"

On maps, a fading dot.
Yet still it holds its ground,
Though its great task forgot.

As modern ships sail past it,

Guided by satellite,
The lighthouse keeps its lonely watch,
Through day and starless night.

A relic of a simpler time,

When stars and flame held sway.
The forgotten lighthouse lingers,
As the world has sailed away.