Beach House

Each of us is a beach house divided.
We have many rooms,
some with doors that will never be opened.
Each room has lights,
if we're willing to search for the switch.
Each decor is different.

We soon decide
which rooms we prefer to be using
and may refuse
to stay in a room we have used,
or go back again.
Our end depends on our choosing.

There is one room that’s required,
It's a room that's dark
as only a cave can be dark.
It smells dank and musty.
In this room time stops.
We wonder how to find our way out.

This room has no official name.
It’s a room for graves,
a room where we bury our shame,
hence, do not cite it.
Even so, it is there to guide us.
It’s called Regret.

But it’s indecision that breaks us,
careless additions,
that carry us out of our way,
be it fake religions
or leaders that lead us astray.
We fear transition,

high wind and rising water.
We sing and whistle,
not wishing to be seen our fear;
only then we listen
to rooms where we’ve happily lived,
but not intentionally considered.