the lighthouse

There is a beacon out there,
Just beyond my reach, sending its
Moving beam of light through the fog.

Blackness, then light
Light, then blackness again.

I watch it, fascinated as it circles,
Revolving and approaching slowly,
Taking its time arriving, yet
Leaving just as surely as it comes.

I wonder if touches more out there,
And if it does, where its journey ends.
Sometimes, even where it begins in the

Blackness, then light.
Light, then blackness again.

The silence is broken only by loud,
Low honkings of the horn,
From somewhere in the light
Searching for wanderers
Lost within the darkness
Trying to find their way home.

By Bev Bryant

The Lighthouse