The Haunted Lighthouse Near Reykjavik [Poetic Mythos]



The Haunted Lighthouse Near Reykjavik

Part I

Pacing of the Tiamat

Outside, to the east of Reykjavik—dwells a legend. Then due north and beyond is a world of its own,

Some say it looks similar to the moon.

Then to the south is a lighthouse—stretching its torso Looking into the intense sea, with its mysterious eye;

Some say it looks akin to the sky.

Along this stretch, of thick cliffs, birds dare to nest! Here they perch, as the Tiamatic-waters never rest…

Restlessly…slapping…the trying cliffs.

Close your eyes my friend, open your mouth, wide, wider! Listen…listen closely: below…deep…deep sounds—

Drumming footsteps on the ground.

Part II

The Case of Tylon Thomas

Here, she paces the ancient seafloor, in glacial waters The Mother of Demon—the beast of two genders:

The Tiamat, horrific-being, — Gigantic-a.

Here, here pacing within the lighthouse’s wooden floors Is the old hermit, Tylon Thomas, pale, weary eyed—

Lowered jaw, freckled hands—failing.

Both were not mysterious to the other, not by far One saw the other from the refractive light in the sea;

Tylon Thomas, from the enduring lighthouse.

At dusk, the Tiamat would slip up, from the underneath Hungry to eat, quiet as a shifting, whispering thief—

Watching Tylon pace and pace and pace.

Part III

Mud and Magic

[The Spirit in the Lighthouse near Reykjavik]

It was an electrical night when the Tiamat surfaced Saw the old man pacing around his giant light—

When she got stuck in deep…deep…mud.

(Panic stricken, she looked, looked as if for love; But demons do not covet such things do they not?)

With the pulling gigantic gears of the lighthouse Out of the bottomless…mud, like magic it seemed—

Seeped the merciless beast, the Tiamat.

(Cracking the torso and seams of the building; Restlessly the old man wouldn’t stop the machine; Wanting to save the beast for some reason or thing.)

Alas, it was a gloomy ending to say the least…for The old man, fell into the sea, his shadow just fading

Fading away into the deep…underneath.

[The Tiamat paid no heed.]

(But legend says, his spirit still lives; lives, as it paces away in that lighthouse by the sea; forty miles from Reykjavik.)

Notes: written: As a short story, 12/21/2004; rewritten 1/2005, as prose poetry “The Haunted Lighthouse near Reykjavik”