A Place Away
November, and your loneliness
already quivers on poles;
a visual silence,
only feet away from the seasonal crowd.
You began a beach, I'm sure.
Plain,
with sand and (sail) and sky-
lovers along the boardwalk
children with their castles and dreams.
But vacation is no longer a private retreat,
but home away from home,
life away from life,
and so beach succumbs to beach.
The drifter had sung his boredome a road
and kept your name
only in rows
of planted palm
and dancing light.
Only the night could have made such changes.
But yours will always be the grandest view,
even behind these light bright walls,
these buoyant demands of youth.
And I have been guilty too,
drunk on sales and this luxury view.
I've made my appointment with this pillowed room,
This building, 6 stories high
pushing your shores away.
2007-12-15
23:29:24
·
4 answers
·
asked by
Pleasantly Plain
1
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Poetry