I am a Lighthouse

“I am a lighthouse,” said the child
Hands on hips, feet firmly planted
For one so small he looked quite wild
Wild, crazed, perhaps enchanted

“When I turn on my light,” he stated
Pointing to headlamp on head
“I can change what has been fated
I can warn what is ahead.”

“I am a lighthouse,” said the child
Cars were whizzing by so fast
He crossed through traffic quite unriled
The median strip he reached at last

He stood as tall as eight years let him
Changed the headlamp to rapid blink
Though tears streamed down, his face was grim
As he boldly faced that brink

Police were called, his mom tracked down
(Frantic worry filled her heart)
Traffic there was detoured ’round
His mom tried not to fall apart

Policeman recognized the mom
“Is this the day? Is this the place?”
She nodded, anything but calm
As tears rolled down her haggard face

Trembling she said, “His sister died here.
He witnessed it and hasn’t spoken
’til today after a whole year!
Finally, something has awoken.”

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This is my response to the W3 challenge this week: “Be the Lighthouse.”

For this week’s prompt, you are the lighthouse. Write a poem in which the speaker is a lighthouse guiding something away from danger, toward safety, or both.

I struggled with this. A lot.

Finally, this cheesy story came out that didn’t meet the criteria. The author of the poem isn’t the lighthouse. Also, it was supposed to be 23-25 lines. There are a 28 lines up there.