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The best part(s) about living in a house on the beach:

Sand is everywhere. You see it on your dilapidated bay walk you built the week after you moved in. It's in your shoes, your shirt, sand is everywhere.

You'd hear the rhythm of the ocean in the middle of the night, waves knocking like lullabies that were clearly meant to keep you awake but failed. You smell and taste salty mist in your mouth whenever you'd strut outside every single day for the past 3 years. It's unlimited sand castles and sand kingdoms.

You'd see how the moon lends it light to the sea, creating a white walkway on the dark waters whenever you stay up late simply because you couldn't sleep, and in the morning you'd see a canvass of colors as mother sun claims her domain, showing off shades of pink, orange and yellow scarves, God, I love living by the sea.

Most of all, you love waking up to the sound of her footsteps, how she'd open all the windows, let light into the room and sing goodmorning. You love the way she runs to that old bay walk and sits down, you love the way she dangles her feet and tease the waters with her touch. You love the fact that this is, has been, and will always be your dream. You and her.

Life often feels like that, but trust me, life finds a way to ***** things up. A balance, if you will.

You see, when someone tells you they live by the sea, it isn't all that perfect.

No one tells you about the first time it rained so hard, the waters caved around, under and above your home that it shook. No one tells you how often the waves are loud and menacing, you dream about how they loom over your home, or how unnaturally silent they are that you can't fall asleep without them whispering in your ears, singing to you in their rhythm.

No one tells you about the time some people get left behind with their dreams.

That of the two names carved on that bay walk, only one person was cursed to sit there and remember.
No one tells you about the time she slowly became sick of the sea and talked about moving back to the city. No one tells you about the time she took off in the middle of the night and you pretended to be asleep. No one tells you about the first time you opened your windows in the morning, felt the color was more grey than orange, and your mouth tasted like her strawberry flavored lip gloss even though you only smell salt.

It's writing both your names in sand and leaving them to get swept by the sea or blown by the wind. It's crying as you skinny dip so the sea can take away your sadness. It's shouting while the waves roar. It's sand everywhere. Sand and sea she left you.

Sad how there's been more storms in your heart and rain in your eyes than outside your home these past years.
I miss free writing
Paul Butters May 29
Do not take glory from conquests and wins
Or climbing stairways into ivory towers.
Rather, take glory in Mother Nature’s work
And glorious sunrises and sunsets.

Oh those sun-down colours: reds and golds,
Deep purples backed by azure blue hues.
Every sunset unique
Like every swirl of clouds.

Yes every sky is different.
My mind makes pictures from those clouds
Except on days of formless, fathomless mists.

Beneath these skies
We have a lovely vista
Of trees and savannah.
Satellites show us a wondrous world
Full of amazing sights.

But best of all we have
People
And animals
Of all kind.

Folks with whom to share
This glory
The real glory,
Every day we waken
To greet the new bright day.

Paul Butters

© PB 29\5\2019.
Wakey, wakey!
Eve May 26
Everyone is always

Saying

What a

Beutiful

Sunset

What a

Magnificent

Beutiful

Sight

But don't forget

That monsters can

Be beutiful

That war can

Be magnificent

And yet a sunset

It is still

Pretty

Pleasing

Romantic

Idealic

Such a soft sight

Such a little snippet of

Gentle

Kind

And it is

All those beutiful

Things

But it is also

Death

It is also

Darkness

A darkness on that light

For, why treat the

Herald

Of a

Tyrant

Like a

Queen

But

And yet

We make an exception

(The humans we are)

An exception for this

Beutiful

Magnificent sight

As it bleeds

As it cries

Tears of

Cloud

Just another

Casualtie

Of night

Pinks like watered

Blood

Oranges like

Funeral pieces

Such morbid

Similies

Such violent

Metaphors

For such a

Beutiful

Magnificent

Terrible

Sight.

Things

Cold

Dark

Lonely

Black

Dieing

Dieing

Dieing

Hope.

The final words

Of a poet

His

Rasping

Breaths

Hacking out

Words

Words like blood splattered flowers

What does he say in those

Final

Moments

What

Beutiful

Violent

Things?

The answer

Why, it just behind that

Dark

Dark

Horizon.
Watching sunsets and thinking
Her restless feet,
take her somewhere;
where she can finally meet
the sky and the ocean.
For years she've been waiting;
barefoot wanderer longing for
sand and sea salt,
sunsets by the shore.
There are some stars that shine brighter than others
but they're too far from here to be visible,
they hang in the sky like flowers in a busy courtyard
that's hosting expensive suits and leather boots.
Summer evenings keep the imperfections at bay,
as a setting sun with orange sky won't let the warmth die
which I need, to survive a tired and forsaken night
striped off those stars that stay hidden behind the bars.
Some dreamy nights make the beautiful people shine
and take them to heights from where they get brighter,
to replace those stars that I never see
or expose the ones sitting in the cabin next to me.
To be among them is stirring in my dreams
and helping me pack for the jet plane
that is bound for an unknown upward ascend
with plans to take off but never to land.
Ruch Feb 10
There was a mountain across the grill
Long and far
It stayed there still
There was a rising view of colored hues
And magic breeze
It blowed gently for miles
There was a book lying upon my desk
With a thousand notes and thoughts untill
The pen that wrote the mighty words
Of the glory days fullfilled
I sat there gazing and wondering why
The cold was dark and blue
The sky was mist and winter chill
My eyes were painting hues
I penned some words
Of tress and shrubs
Life living the mountain ways
I made some tea
With warmth and feel
And a book indeed to read
Realizing my ways
Not all is lost
His ways are still unclear
He has your back
All you need is to start
Coz Not all views in life lead to a journey
some lead to your heart❤️
Ashley Black Jan 31
I seem to have convinced myself,
that if understand my fear I can save myself from it.
What a foolish notion.
My naivety has led me for too long,
and I have forgotten what cruelty gave me breath.

Yet so is the nature of this world.
Cloaked in our pride we gaze out with hopeful eyes,
but only the hopeful become the ******
in a place like ours.
And ****** shall I be,
****** to believe hell could be any worse
then the hell we're living.
Yes, I have forgotten the cruelty.

As my lungs inflate I remember,
just for a moment,
how it felt to breathe without pain.
I may have forgotten the cruelty,
but I remember life without end and a stretching sky.
A place where God was real,
and angels were just people.

Our sun is too bright,
it hides the hell from our eyes.
For is our stretching sky truly blue
or is there fire just beyond the reach of our sight?

Yes we have forgotten the cruelty.
After all,
we call sunsets beautiful.
Katy Jan 8
I bleed in pastels
To mimic the beauty of sunsets
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