2. Ancient Dread

Against the jagged cliffs, where waves do roar,
A lost man held a key, a flowers gift.
He pushed the rusty door, creaks lost to shore,
And life saw death unkind — a fateful drift.

Within, the air was thick with ancient dread,
The scent of rot and decay hung heavy.
Bugs crawled within the sockets of the dead,
Their feast upon the corpse both grim and steady.

The lighthouse stood, a sentinel of old,
Its beacon once alive, now dimmed and cold.
If care no longer carried sailor’s soul,
And thrust into a world where time grew mold.

The light, extinguished, cast no guiding beam,
Its purpose lost, forgotten like a dream.

2. Ancient Dread by Tom Bastasch