lighthouse book
All is well at the hour.
The shortwave crackles
broken friendly words from the mainland
or faraway clouded accents broadcast
the world at war.
Keepers living in limestone brick
cleansed by a violent sea
lost in the hushed reading room
one story above the torrent.
Light from concentric mirrors
up in the lantern room
belongs only to the mariner's spyglass.
The stick-matched flame burning on the side table
suffices our thousand dry pages.
A sudden chill extinguishes the candle.
We are in the dark
and my love shivers:
'Honey, did you latch the iron door'?
posted by phil at 11:02 PM
3 Comments:
Yay! I loved the poem for keeping it more INSIDE the lighthouse!
This is an interesting take on the prompt. I like it.
Your piece makes the picture more personable as you take us inside the lighthouse.
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