My Beach

2 Comments

Tags:
  • Love
  • ,
  • Happiness

    Poem Commentary

    I thought this was a very great poem topic. I imagined a woman who was on the beach. Describing her experiences as a young child. Enjoy!!

    My Beach

    I can feel the sand beneath my feet
    Scrapping my bare feet.
    I feel the wind hit my hair,
    Blowing it as if I was in a movie.
    The waves hit the shore,
    barely missing my legs.
    I walk along the shore,
    Looking at the sun set across the blue sea.
    I remember those times
    I loved coming here,
    to the place where I belong.
    The Sea.

    I love watching the dolphin's fins
    appear and disappear.
    I love watching the ships go by
    slowly and steadily,
    Like a baby bird,
    Just finding its way home.
    To start a new life.

    The waves get louder,
    then softer again.
    I finally sit on the dry sand.
    I watch as the waves come closer
    I don't care if they hit me
    because I love the water.

    I imagine the way I went along the shore
    As a very young child,
    Very cautiously stepping
    closer and closer.
    Finally I jumped in
    For the very first time,
    and realized that it was amazing.

    Here I am again at this beach.
    The beach that I love.
    My Beach.

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    dahlusion commented on My Beach

    11-04-2010

    I am looking at your age and saying: This is extraordinary writing. Mystical in every sense of the word. Bravo!!!!!!!

    LizaT11

    11/10/2010

    Thank you! I feel so loved on this site, it makes me happy to be who I am! :)

    Rhymer commented on My Beach

    10-18-2010

    To be so young you have a very talented pen. Vivid description seems to come easily for you. Nice write.

    LizaT11

    11/10/2010

    Thank you...it's really the first descriptive writing that I felt was acceptable to put on here.

    When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.

    John F. Kennedy (1917-1963) Thirty-fifth President of the USA

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