The Lighthouse Beckons

The inevitable word ‘come’ coined by destiny, embeds in the nascent awareness at a time precisely when the eyes open to the distant lighthouse light, journey begins with the warping waves out of sight. The echo of breakers reaches the pitch very high, as the sun slides slowly with dismal cloud in the sky, from where the call is made, but it waits behind the shroud of silence spread on the sleeping mind. The call inaudible now, but much real and true, goes out clear to all living, but they’ve no clue, lingers in the labyrinth of latent perception unheard, sinks sorely swathing the mind getting blurred. The ever-present unsought strings of sound articulate the word ‘come’ that encapsulates the message of fate. At the ordained hour of providence awesome, when the clock is coded to stop it would covertly come. The call carries the inescapable word ‘come’, the voice rises from the recess of the inner home, conveys clearly the concept of certainty to the innate ear when the terminal time telling to listen looms near. When in the serene soul all sounds subside at sunset, the caller from the timeless realm doesn’t wait, turns into the beckoning lighthouse beaming bright, the tired eyes finally close draped by the divine light. ________________ February 15, 2023 For Brian Strand's You Select Again Contest