The Lighthouse by Lynn White

I was a little crazy

to buy the old lighthouse.

I knew it at the time.

But I wanted to be somewhere, 

somewhere where I could shine,

shine it’s lamps out into the vastness,

shine like a beaming beacon.

And it was so high.

It matched my mood and then some.

Higher than high.

Higher than high.

There was no housewarming.

No one came.

There was no one to come.

So, only I could relish the exposure.

Only I could walk round the top 

of the tower and look over the edge

into the dark deep depths.

Only I could see the swimmer,

a mermaid, surely? waving.

Or was she beckoning 

as she approached the mooring.

Only I could come spiraling down.

Come down from the heights 

to open the door,

to run down the steps

to the mooring.

And then the lamps went out.

*First published in With Painted Words October, 2015

Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality.