Great Vacation

The brackish waters of the ocean grind
Against a lonely shore. A road sign names
The ancient beach; its symbols long forgotten,
Its shape a stoic sentinel, vigilant.
Off the coast the clouds turn dark and churn.
Palm trees shutter in their quiet knowing:
The strength will build; the storm will charge ashore.
A ruin, with it's sign held high, proclaims
MIDAS in gold and red, but the hurricane
shall strip it bare, the windows will not last the night.
The Masters, could they see, would find their goods
Scattered and destroyed; their sordid touch
that turned the world to stone is losing spell.
Sea birds cry in warning, gather wing,
And abandon the marina dock. Tonight
That tired bridge will take the ocean's breast
In furious embrace and go with her.
The dock bells toll. Could the Masters hear,
They'd flock to cars and flee the troubled shore
Like birds. The highway'd cram with vehicles
As thick as their unanimous lament:
That even Earth, in her all her patience, takes
Her great and terrible vacation.