Painting the Lighthouse
The night was dark with streaks of red.
The air was heavy and full of dread.
The waves of black tossed the boat.
My brush went crazy with every stroke.
But in the distance a lighthouse appeared.
It's light a beacon for us who feared.
That distant light of yellow and white
would guide us through this stormy night.
The brush took on a life of it's own
as it painted the tall walls of stone.
It formed huge rocks of grey and white
as the light kept flashing through the night.
Suddenly I looked at that black sky.
Something was missing in my mind's eye.
Yes, it was the moon,
and with a few strokes it came out soon.
Shaped like a cresent it gave me hope
as I saw myself on this frail boat.
The wind died down
and I knew I wouldn't drown.
I sat back and lit a cigarette.
"I'll get one hundred dollars for this one I bet."
"You see I'm an amateur,"
but my brush said, "Are you sure?"
By: Carole O'Terry Duet
Copyright: June 6, 2017
"All Rights Reserved"
Copyright © Carole Duet | Year Posted 2017
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