A Lighthouse - Poem

There was a lighthouse years ago, on the far flung shore.

A lighthouse built of necessity, not architectural care.

Its owners maintained it to the strictest sense of the word,

Never glistening but never in disrepair.

It sat, inanimate and unmoved.

As it existed only for its purpose.

Some days it would see another lighthouse and dim.

For it knew there was no competition.

One day, a woman came from a nearby land to the lighthouse.

She sat beneath its beacon of light, and whispered platitudes of praise.

“You’re a light among lighthouses,” she would say, and the lighthouse shone brighter.

She brushed aside cobwebs, and polished the tower windows.

She repainted the walls, and refocused the light atop.

And the lighthouse was grateful, as it always would repeat.

For none had ever cared for it outside of a job.

As the women smiled and nodded, “I don’t get what they don’t see.”

One day, the lighthouse refocused its beam upon the northern shore.

Up there, another lighthouse stood, taller and brighter than itself.

Only it didn’t mind, because it was alive as it wasn’t before.

Because there was someone out there to reassure and praise it.

But when its light focused in, there she was again.

Whispering to the other lighthouse, painting its walls brand new.

As if such things were not special, just a motion with which to run through.

When next she came to visit, the lighthouse spoke to her.

“Why do you visit another? 

Am I not a light among lighthouses?”

And the woman smiled a well-meaning smile as she answered,

“Of course you are. 

But I am a lighthouse inspector, you are not the only one in need of care.

It wouldn’t make sense for me to help just one lighthouse.

But call me, when you next need repairs.”

The lighthouse creaked; it was just a job after all.

Its boards once again set rot.

The windows once again fogged.

But to the woman it spoke quietly,

“Thank you for your time.

For you, I liked being alive.”

Then never again did it move.