The Beach House

The following free-form, non-rhyming poem was inspired by our time at the Oregon coast.  I hope you enjoy it.

 

The Beach House

 

I arrived at the beach house as all do

In the morning fog.

The house was clean and bright and pleasant,

Birds were chirping in the crisp, cool air.

My favorite room was the play room for

It was filled with toys and games and fun.

 

At mid-day the sun broke through

And the fog was rolled away.

I then saw that the beach house

Was not as clean as I thought it should be.

There were spiders in every room and

The carpet was in need of repair.

Its paint was peeling

And its foundation cracked,

The house was rather shabby indeed,

As the sun had revealed it clear.

My favorite room was now the kitchen

From where I could cook for my friends

And look out over the glorious sea

And imagine what lies beyond.

 

Evening came and the sun sank low

In a fiery display of orange.

The beach house started to fade from my thoughts

As I watched to ports unknown

The fishing boats born by the winds to go.

My favorite room became the deck outside

It was there the ocean breeze I did feel.

It was only from there that I could see unimpeded

The vast ocean and sky.

 

It was not until night had fallen

That I fully realized

This beach house was not my home,

It was not where I was meant to live.

My home was across the vast sea and to it I must go.

In the darkness I left the beach house forever

With my Brother and my Friend.

He had come to take me home

From my beach house to rescue me.

As I left the beach house

I shed not a tear

For my Love has set me free.