The Light House By Robert Ludden
Blog Posted:12/30/2012 10:30:00 AM
Its singularity is insular
until it stirs itself and throws
its restless particles away,out to the blackened, hungry sea,
the heaving grace of irony whose understanding is but to receive
and never to return. Now in the steady beam of sacrifice
there is disclosed the synthesis of fire,
that essential spirit stuff which place is only to destroy
yet on its saving mission borne along on minute quanta,
substance of the universe.
I cherish that cold vision of a lonely cynosure upon the coast
that draws me from the world and speaks of vigil to the night...
speaks of faith where none is asked...
speaks where time enfolds an unknown plain in its embrace of light.
The lighthouse, that last ghost of mother shore and set apart like
some evasive anchorite enchained in vows of silence,
demonstrates its wisdom in the immaculate restraint of modesty
that we who write,audacious in pretentiousness,
will never understand.
Written by: Robert Ludden