The lock is stiff, the heavy wooden door <br />On rusted hinges creaks as I walk in. <br />Tonight I am to sleep here in this lighthouse. <br />It’s twenty years since last its scything beam <br />Shone out at night to warn approaching ships <br />Where danger lay in sandbanks, shoals, and rocks. <br />For more than ninety years each night the light <br />Was lit and monitored by quiet careful men, <br />The lighthouse keepers. I can see them now <br />In dark blue uniforms and caps, brass buttons <br />Polished, mutton whiskers, waistcoats, pipes <br />And silver pocket watches hung from chains. <br />How different now, just empty rooms and ghosts <br />That throw pale shadows on their rounded walls. <br />I climb alone the winding spiral stair <br />And listen to the echoes of my steps, <br />They seem too loud and likely to disturb <br />The crowded ghosts that lurk behind each door <br />And might resent my presence here tonight. <br />The light that filters through the narrow window <br />On each floor begins to fade as finally I reach <br />The top and climb into the glass-walled room <br />That used to house the turning lantern light: <br />The sea is calm tonight and far below <br />The distant ships seem little more than specks <br />Upon the darkening waters of the coming night. <br />I’m loth to turn and leave this still light room <br />To pass those empty rooms and hear their echoes <br />Or see upon the curving stair some darker <br />Shadow that may be something lurking there. <br />It seemed a good idea to volunteer <br />To spend a night in this lighthouse all alone <br />But that was in the pub, all light and laughter. <br />I start reluctantly my downward steps <br />Below and know this night has scarce begun … <br /> <br /><br />Pete Crowther<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-night-in-the-old-lighthouse/
