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Standing Sentry

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A single finger
pointing up into the sky
alone with the sea.

Its vertical tip
breaks the calm of the
rocky horizon.

Waves crash into shore
while clouds gather up above -
deceptively calm.

One turning light shines.
Tended by a silent man.
The beam glimmers on.

Pointing the way home
around the treacherous rocks
luring sailors in.

A constant presence.
An immortal safety net.
Hope for homecoming.

The sturdy sentry
standing guard against the sea
taking wind and rain.

It has weathered storms
and has witnessed last moments
drowned by hungry waves.

Ancient as the sand
and as the man who tends it,
the town it shadows.

It speaks her language -
that of the mother and knows
tides, winds, gulls, by name.

An old friend always
willing to welcome home the
far-off travelers.





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