You may think I dim and fade—
A mere illusion and testament to my skill.
The pastel warmth is not a failing,
It is a badge I wear constantly.
But then, you would not know,
You have nothing to mark you.
I might have thought it was below you
To speak to such a terrestrial body.
I am marked; the Skillagalee lighthouse*
Is pinned on me; it is my badge.
I have countless others, attempting to spare lives,
After I took so many into me.
That is no badge, it is a scar.
A feeble attempt to recreate my likeness
When I grow tired of gracing you
With my ethereal presence.
Braggart! You may be life-giving,
But they call me and my brethren ‘great’ for a reason:
We inspire and breathe life through fear;
Through epic fishermen’s tales, and millennia of myth.
Life-giving? You insult me, puddle!
I did not give life like a gift,
I created it. It is my brain-child, my own.
You are too, and I can burn your glassy surface,
Make it blush and bleed.
You can try, lazy orb,
But my depths and my darkness
Will douse your fires
And swallow you whole.
*The Skillagalee lighthouse is on the Northeast coast of Lake Michigan. It was first lit in 1888 and marks a small island leading to the Straights of Mackinac. It is still used today for ship navigation.
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