The Lighthouse

High upon the peninsula, the lighthouse stands,
A beacon in the night, guiding dreamers
From the Ocean of Dreams to the continent beyond.

The countless colours reflected upon the ocean’s surface
Dance across its brilliant white walls,
While a turquoise beam sweeps through the darkness,
Like a great celestial hand pointing the way.

At its summit sits the Lighthouse Keeper,
Ancient, grey, and blindfolded.
Seated upon an ornate golden armchair,
He keeps an eternal vigil over the shore.

Below, countless sleepwalkers emerge from the beach,
Wandering through the dunes in silent procession,
Preparing for whatever journey awaits them
In the lands beyond.

Far out upon the dark waters,
Beyond the reach of the lighthouse’s guiding light,
The great serpent rises from the depths.
Its immense form breaks the surface before vanishing once more beneath the waves,
Hunting the unwary and the unfortunate.

Those claimed by the serpent are carried elsewhere,
Swallowed whole and delivered to darker realms:
The Black Forest, where unseen creatures stalk the shadows;
The frozen mountain ranges, where bitter winds mourn across the peaks;
Or the Swamps of Despair, where hope slowly sinks beneath the mire.

Such is the nature of the dream world.
No dreamer can know what awaits beyond the next horizon.

Will they witness the morning cranes
Gathering in fields of gold beneath the dawn?
Or will they meet the dripping fangs
Of the Devourers lurking within the forest gloom?

In the Ocean of Dreams,
The lighthouse may guide the way,
But it cannot promise the destination.