I’ve been on a bit of a poetry kick lately, so I figured I’d take a break from politics (fun as it is). So here goes.
The lighthouses cast their beams wide,
They cut through the night,
Beacons of safety, of places to hide,
Calling to all those in the darkness.
Rigging taut, sails stretching,
The ships struggle through the waves,
Wind howling, storm raging,
The crew fights on to haven.
The waves crash violently against the seawall,
The rain slashing as it falls,
The great, rising tower withstands all
Its flame burning eternal.
Wooden schooners, frail and straining,
Face Nature’s forces in all their fury,
The beacon of hope fading, fate gaining,
In the end, there is no mercy.
Many a ship was lost,
Many more shall be,
Many souls shall be,
But hope springs eternal,
Hope burns eternal.
In the end,
There is only the lighthouse,
And the sea.
“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby