A Haunted Lighthouse
The ghost of the haunted lighthouse, standing lonely by the sea,
Emerges every morning ‘twixt the hours of one and three,
His vacant eyes forlornly search the ocean, still in vain,
Where the vessel lies forever and the sailors' bones remain.
Up and down the stairs he drifts, and thrice around the lamp,
An empty bottle at his hip, the air all cold and damp.
He moans and wails a ghosty chant, a song that isn’t known
By men of breath who come to see a man who can’t atone.
These stories are as old as hills, the haunted lighthouse ghosts,
When lonely keepers kept lamps lit on deadly rocky coasts,
With powers sublime, when tempests raged, these souls were tested then
And stormy seas and weedy pipes meant death to that ship’s men.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
