The old lighthouse stands…

A spine of stone vertebrae gripping the cliff,
its lantern a single unblinking eye
scrawling circles of warning across the salt‑dark.

For centuries it has been the throat‑clearing of land,
a bright pulse rolling through fog
to keep wooden ribs and iron hulls
from kissing the teeth of the rocks.

It is a towering caution,
a lighthouse of risk,
teaching the sea how not to swallow us whole.

Closer to our front doors…

The porch light flicks on like a small domestic oracle,
telling strangers the house is not asleep,
holding shadows at polite arm’s length.

In town…

Store‑front window lights

stretch thin halos across sidewalks,
glass‑framed promises that danger pauses
at the threshold of commerce.

Driving at night…

Our headlights carve
two white tunnels through the dark,
like impatient blades slicing uncertainty,
while highway lamp posts rise in procession,
tall, metallic monks chanting
KEEP GOING, KEEP GOING, KEEP GOING
astride the endless asphalt.

But…

Deeper in the architecture of us,
there is the grand designer,
the brain of soft cathedral of light
having invented every bulb, every beacon.

Our eyes and ears…

Small twin watchtowers perched on the cliff of a face,
sweeping the world with their own lantern arcs,
warning us of what nears,
what moves, what breathes strangely in the dark.

Yet…

Unlike the steadfast seashore sentry,
our inner lighthouse dims each night,
powers down its vigilant beam;
then in REM sleep, it often flares again,
a nightmare rising like a ship gone off‑course,
crashing against the mind’s black shoals,
jerking us awake with pupils wide as alarm bells.

Still…

Risk is no enemy,
only our weather-prone caution
as we sail into the unknown

As we hear a call by our true name.
Reality-rocks on our shores are not threats
but kindly markers, rough‑voiced elders saying,
HERE. STAND BACK. LOOK CLOSELY.
For without venturing
into the tremble of deep water,
we learn nothing of what currents can shape us.
And so we live with our lights,
those we build,

those we are,
flickering, revolving,
guiding us through danger not to avoid it wholly,
but to know it well enough
to chart wisdom’s direction

away from its destructive edges.