The Keeper of the Lantern
I light the path for wanderers lost,
Through misty nights at bitter cost.
The flame I guard, its warmth so near,
Yet none but shadows linger here.
They call me “keeper,” but for whom?
No footsteps echo in this gloom.
The sea, unyielding, claims its due—
The light, a hope, for ships that flew.
Once, a voice—ah, I recall!
A sailor bold, who braved the squall.
He spoke of lands where gold trees gleam,
And left me bound to this fevered dream.
“Hold fast the light,” he bade, and fled.
“Guard well this fire; it feeds the dead.”
Yet who am I to burn and wait,
To tend a pyre at heaven’s gate?
The flame consumes, it does not warm.
Its flicker mocks my weary form.
Oh, how I long to douse this glow,
To join the waves where sailors go.
But still, I stand, as eldritch creep,
Their appendages coil; they never sleep.
And when the dawn betrays my fight,
I bow my head and quench the night.
Tell me, stranger, if you dare,
Would you light the way, or leave it bare?
For though I hold this lantern high,
Its fire burns me as the years slip by.
WoPoLi 
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