Time and Tide
The tang of salt imbues the mist –
a calling I cannot resist.
I walk along the rocky shore
held spellbound by the ocean’s roar.
As darkness falls, the fog rolls in
and, from the lighthouse, shapes begin
to stalk within the opaque veils
like illustrations of its tales.
The cloying haze seems to transcend
reality, here at land’s end.
I see the ghosts of tortured souls,
their names inscribed on filmy scrolls.
There stands a lover who lost hope,
there a traitor, wrapped in rope,
a lost ship’s crew, still foundering
and fighting off the storms of spring.
Above it all, the lighthouse stands
illuminating within bands
of light this silent history
of struggles with the mighty sea.
A small breeze starts, a whispering,
a dirge that only oceans sing,
and soon the air is once more clear,
though I can feel the ghosts still near.
I sit upon the rocks and stare
out to the sea and wonder where
the lost souls seen now reside.
They ebb and flow like time and tide.
Copyright © Ken Johnson | Year Posted 2025
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