Eye of the Night
What comfort, lighthouse, in this automated age?
No welcoming glow from cottage windows,
no friendly keeper brewing tea,
just a cold white beam flaying the night.
Lighthouse, in deepest dark you stand a watch
as lonely as mine,
both turning vacant eyes to an uncompromising dawn,
both lonely daymarks for the dispossessed.
What comfort, lighthouse,
What comfort?
Copyright © Mary Rotman | Year Posted 2015
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