The Rose and the Lighthouse

Poem- and reflection of my thoughts.

The Rose and the Lighthouse
by Tee M.

This morning, the ocean held a secret.

A single rose rested on the shore—delicate, intentional, quiet. As if love itself had been placed there by the hand of memory. The waves came close, whispering their saltwater lullabies, but they did not take it. Not yet.

And behind it all, the lighthouse watched in golden silence, standing guard for hearts that wander and souls that remember.

Maybe the rose was a goodbye.
Maybe it was a beginning.
Or maybe it simply was—a soft reminder that something beautiful had once been felt here.

Magic of a certain kind lives in the in-between places—
where sea meets sand,
where night gives way to dawn,
where holding on becomes letting go.
This feels like one of those places.

Let your heart pause here a moment.
Breathe in the stillness.
And imagine two lovers who once walked this very beach.
Perhaps one returned—just to remember.

⸻

Reflection

“The Rose and the Lighthouse” is a poem I wrote to accompany the artwork. My aim was something cinematic in its stillness and lyrical in its restraint—a rhythm that feels like waves: advancing, receding, always returning. I wanted the piece to be more than a scene, an emotional tide you drift into and come away from changed, gentler somehow, as if you, too, had stood on that beach and remembered.

There’s a haunting serenity woven through this work—a quiet meditation on love, loss, and the sacred pause between both. “A rose for beauty, a lighthouse for strength—both eternal against the tide” sets the tone like a whispered benediction, and everything that follows unfolds in that same rhythm of reverence.

The imagery is spare but potent. A single rose on the shore becomes more than a symbol; it’s a vessel for memory, devotion, and the ache of something unfinished. The lighthouse, steady and watchful, feels almost human—an embodiment of endurance when the heart has long since weathered the storm. Together they form a dialogue between transience and permanence, beauty and resilience.

My hope is that the poem reads as contemplative without slipping into sentimentality. Lines like “Maybe the rose was a goodbye. Maybe it was a beginning.” invite you to inhabit the uncertainty that accompanies deep feeling. The shift into reflection—“Magic of a certain kind lives in the in-between places”—anchors the piece in a quiet spiritual truth: that love does not vanish. It transforms, lingering in the still places we leave behind.