The forsaken lighthouse stood on a cliff,
Where waves crashed below, and cold winds blew,
Its beacon, once a guiding light,
Now darkened by eternal night.
The keeper’s ghost walked the stairs,
His heart was a web of deep despairs,
With each step, his sorrow increased,
In the lighthouse, where no light glimmered.
His love was lost to the sea’s embrace,
A tragic time that could not have been erased,
He waited for her on stormy nights,
In shadows deep, beneath moonlight.
The foghorn moans, a mournful sound,
A cry for souls lost and unfound,
The sea whispered tales of woe,
Of lives claimed by its undertow.
The lantern room, a silent tomb,
Where once a flame cut through the gloom,
Now dark and cold, it held his pain,
In every drop of sorrow’s rain.
He tended a lamp that never burned,
In endless nights, his spirit yearned,
For a return, a hopeless dream,
In the lighthouse, where shadows screamed.
The waves crashed hard against the rock,
Their fury met with silent shock,
His ghostly formed, a shade of silver,
A heart that’s lost, a soul in the fray.
The seagulls cried, a haunting plea,
Above the dark, relentless sea,
Their wings a blur against the sky,
In mournful flight, they, too, must have died.
The forsaken lighthouse lost forever its beacon’s glow,
Besotted by the sorrow that ruled infamously,
For in that tower, shadows dwelled,
Of love lost to the ocean’s swell.
Beneath the stars, his vigil kept,
As tides rose high and darkness crept,
The ghostly keeper, bound by fate,
In sorrow’s grasp, he’d always have to wait.
A presence in the mist so pale,
A love-lorn ghost, a mournful tale,
The forsaken lighthouse stood as a monument,
To love and loss, forever spent,
An unextinguished flame to the broken-hearted lost in the gale.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
