The tide of hypocrisy rolls in and I become the shore.
The lighthouse under the stars beckons a warning, “danger awaits”
yet the tide continues;
so firmly I must stand.

The lighthouse keeper sounds the horn to those passing in the fog
“beware…beware…be safe out there
for danger surrounds us all”.

When the tide becomes the surge of a storm
the shore shall be beaten by the pounding waves
the hidden moon miles away
smiles behind the turbulent sky.

The lighthouse keeper stand his ground
in the darkness of the chaos that spills it’s blood
the raging voices call out in the dark
“Nevermore shall you rest
for my blood has stained your hands”

The tide shows no mercy
as the shore holds its ground.
The old moon has lost its shine
a fading memory in a darkened mind
the tide recedes from the approaching dawn
as the lighthouse keeper holds his breath.

And I the shore remain
watching the tide roll away.

Author Michael Plante