The Old Lighthouse

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    The Old Lighthouse

    It is pouring red rain tonight
    And the burgandy curtains are drawn
    Blocking out the weak light
    It is too hot for the candles to burn

    So we sit in silent blackness
    There are red eyes glowing in the dark
    There is smoke in the attic
    And ice in the basement

    A burnt out lighthouse on a bloody sea
    The gales have never been so high
    In the distance, dead drums begin to beat
    A gust of wind blows the door shut

    You had better run

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    Poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history.

    Plato (BC 427-BC 347) Greek philosopher.

    natgold’s Poems (9)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    City Limits 1
    Lost 0
    Nick 1
    The Lonesome Pine 2
    The Great Fall 1
    Runway 0
    The Old Lighthouse 0
    Sandman 0
    Memories 0