The Dream of the Blue Motel

I do not dream tonight about the sky,
I dream instead of moonlight on a pool;
A place I’ve never been to, never seen —
A motel, somewhere, faintly lit with gold.

I grew up in a world that loved motels.
As station wagons roamed across the land,
My people transmigrated every year;
A new soul found on every three week trip.

But here went forty years, and I have seen
More luxury than my dad ever did:
And motels are a cheap alternative
That we pass by for some other resort.

But yet, in blue and gold under the moon
I dream of what was beauty
And still is

(Is it bad when you start to dream in blank verse? – Owen)

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

2 thoughts on “The Dream of the Blue Motel”

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