From The Heights

He sits cross-legged on the floor outside

the lantern room of the lighthouse. Sea’s roar

a mere sight from here. Rusty wings of eagles

circle the sky, much below the railings

that my fingers clutch beneath giddy gasps.

“Never mind him”, the guard assures

a flock of school kids, “He’s the harmless type.

Just climbs the stairs up here every morning

with the first tourists and leaves with the last.”

He keeps a distance from words, behaves

like an animal that doesn’t grasp

human conversation. But he turns around

and smoulders teenage indignation, as a boy

tries to poke him with his dirty shoes.

A girl, frail and meek, her fingers

nowhere near the vertigo-defying railings,

tries to press her back against the wall and

stand still, fails, and collapses onto the man’s lap.

.

He doesn’t move a finger while others

circle around, murmur, shout, get a bottle

of water and sprinkle it on her face.

When she wakes, he looks calmly into her

eyes that blink back at him, and gives her

the kindest smile madness can afford.

Courtesy:  http://creativewriting.ie/2012/04/23/creative-writing-picture-prompt-april-23rd/