Of all buildings, give me a lighthouse.
Let it be on a promontory,
lashed by the sea,
at the end of a winding path.
There will be a man in a sou’wester,
his face set against the weather,
hand cupped over knowing eyes.
Peering, peering
into the night’s fury.
He will stand on a thin walkway
as forked lightning rakes
a thunderous sky,
wild seas thrash at the base.
He will know, as few know,
that only in this rampage
is there any peace
this sort of thing appeals to me, too – the solitude, the peace os the sea’s rampage. v. cool
Could see it all, John, that’s what makes it so vivid! The last 2 lines are pure gold!
You are, as ever, very kind.
I think it is the storm chaser in me; memories of wearing a sou’wester as a child and standing in paddocks as branches flew and lightning filed the sky and feeling as though nothing, not even a wild storm, could get me.
And, yes, I love lighthouses.
Killingly profound, Mr, Keast, exactly what life shows us in its greying rages of age!!
Nicely found there, John, the acceptance, of what is, at the end.