My job...
Is to keep...
the light of the town...
burning at its fullest...
its brightest...
and its most glory.
For I am,
as with the rest of
these fine people,
that light we hope to
keep bright.
For that very light...
that glorious light...
can be seen for miles.
And it wants to be seen...
although it does not
need that recognition...
we give it,
and we are happy...
Like a lighthouse,
like my lighthouse...
like our lighthouse...
we keep it glowing...
as a sign...
that we are here...
We do exist!
And we are filled with honour!
I saw this poem in thought of a protector...someone who lives in a town; ignored, but there. Every night he makes sure no monsters invade the town, and he keeps everything secure. The youths are content, the windmills are turning, and the town's lighthouse shines bright...but he gets no recognition at all. As a matter of fact, he gets put down constantly, but he gives no reason to help these people of the city...the famous words of Zidane: "You don't need a reason to help people."
On a side note, nothing is more glorifying than seeing the heartwarming glow of a whole self-sufficient village filled with content...
But there's nothing worse than being forgotten when you made it that way.
So, I say stand up and be counted! If you are something in this world...anything at all...be that way! Don't wear a mask, or you will never be known as what you really are. The poem written above has so much sadness to it, because the success of the place he lives, the place his heart and soul live, will see no memorials...no statues...nothing of him. I hope that these words and this poem will be taken to heart...you are a person! Be heard.
