Isn't the dream to live by the sea shore?
In a small wooden home shutters opening with the wind.
A cool breeze jumping down the spine,
a small layer of sand covering the hallway
Watching the sun set over the calmly rippling water
watching the lightening over the vast darkened blue space
Watching and listening to the seagulls join together for a party
I've always dreamt about the sea.
I've had this image of the utterly perfect house since I was little.
The brown and teal blue home with teal perfectly in line shutters
looking out at the beautifully blue tinted green body of water
I can hear the thrashing of the tides during the storm
I can hear the whisper of the waves before dusk
For now, it's just a dream.
For now I'll triple lock the doors,
never say "hi" to the neighbors, a chaotic group of men who partake in illicit activities
never step outside after dark,
live in a pit of terror every night falling asleep.
But I will have my dream.
I crave the sheer idea of this possibility.
Tonight I lay my head on the beaten up discolored and rectangle block,
once soft and fluffy, full of freshly stuffed cotton and feathers
dreaming of a home, my home
by the sea.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 12:09 AM UTC
Isn't the dream to live by the sea shore?
In a small wooden home shutters opening with the wind.
A cool breeze jumping down the spine,
a small layer of sand covering the hallway
Watching the sun set over the calmly rippling water
watching the lightening over the vast darkened blue space
Watching and listening to the seagulls join together for a party
I've always dreamt about the sea.
I've had this image of the utterly perfect house since I was little.
The brown and teal blue home with teal perfectly in line shutters
looking out at the beautifully blue tinted green body of water
I can hear the thrashing of the tides during the storm
I can hear the whisper of the waves before dusk
For now, it's just a dream.
For now I'll triple lock the doors,
never say "hi" to the neighbors, a chaotic group of men who partake in illicit activities
never step outside after dark,
live in a pit of terror every night falling asleep.
But I will have my dream.
I crave the sheer idea of this possibility.
Tonight I lay my head on the beaten up discolored and rectangle block,
once soft and fluffy, full of freshly stuffed cotton and feathers
dreaming of a home, my home
by the sea.
