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The Beacon

A Poem

By Conor MatthewsPublished about a year ago • 1 min read
The Beacon
Photo by Pablo Orcaray on Unsplash

The shining city on the hill,

The beacon to all,

Has turned out the light.

Where once there was hope,

And a true belief,

There is only the cold night.

What has happened,

To the Mecca of chance,

A land of hard work and luck?

It has closed the doors,

Pulled the blinds,

Leaving us with a single fuck.

It looks so dark in the distance,

So empty, and hallow,

A calling absence in the void.

Yet if you listen,

You can hear them cheer,

Jubilant and overjoyed.

Perhaps we were mistaken,

And there never was a city,

Not shining on the hill at least.

Perhaps there was only wilderness,

Lost dreams and last hopes,

Unforgiving nature and hungry beasts.

Perhaps it was just a star,

Setting over the horizon,

Vanishing forever in the night.

Another myth told,

In the heavens above,

To comfort those search for the light.

#HI

artsocial commentaryOde

About the Creator

Conor Matthews

Writer. Opinions are my own. https://ko-fi.com/conormatthews

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    Written by Conor Matthews