The first one burned outside Tulsa, where no ocean should’ve been. Just one white eye above the black, calling nobody in. Sheriff blamed the power lines. Preacher called it proof. An old man smiled and tipped his hat… “Every light begins a truth.” Every flame wakes somewhere when somebody bends the truth… Who keeps counting? Who keeps score? Who keeps building silent shores? If every lie becomes a flame, who’s standing there remembering our names? I started chasing every beacon, every county, every state. Found forgotten towers rising where the maps all hesitated. Every lantern held a ledger. Every page was blank as snow. Till I whispered one small lie… and watched the ink begin to grow. Every name starts somewhere. Every spark demands its due… Who keeps counting? Who keeps score? Who keeps building silent shores? If every lie becomes a flame, who’s standing there remembering our names? Every lighthouse had one keeper. Every keeper had my face. Older. Younger. Broken. Smiling. Like I’d met myself displaced. One looked up and simply asked, “How many lies left… before you disappear?” Who keeps counting? Who keeps score? Who keeps building silent shores? If every lie becomes a flame, who’s standing there remembering our names? Who keeps watching? Who keeps the sea? If every light was lit by me… When the last horizon burns, when the last confession clears, who will keep the lighthouse… when I disappear?
