The Lighthouse That Waited

At the edge where the land meets the sea,

Stands a tower watching silently,

Its lantern swings with a gentle grace,

Searching the dark for a long-lost face.

Waves crash hard but it does not sway,

It’s seen the storms and the gentle days,

Through winters cold and summers wide,

It’s kept its watch with patient pride.

The paint has peeled, the stones have worn,

Yet still it hums through every storm,

A voice that calls without a sound,

To those who may yet turn around.

I wonder if the ships still know,

The beam that waits through ebb and flow,

Or if they’ve found some brighter flame,

And left this shore without a name.

But still the lighthouse stands its ground,

Its light a song without a sound,

For some beacons never fade away —

They shine in hope, come what may.

Thanks for reading. 💜 💜 💜