The smug house

A poem based on a holiday house in the New Forest.

obvious beauty.

at bursting point with greenery

the light bouncing so that you squint.

the wood polished

potent smells of lavender and grass.

small cracks in the walls

telling stories of times gone.

families, couples, dogs

a house full of experience

but itself stays unchanged.

decorative features;

the purple sofa

the hanging plants come and go.

the glass windows smile at you

they know their charm.

smug in the known fact

you will never want to leave.

perfect imperfection as dirt from outside comes in.

relaxation- an escape.

an escape that you crave and keep chasing

only to never quite fulfil.

it leaves you wanting to come back

but not here.

you don’t crave repeated memories

a craving for a time that will stand still.

the sun begins to set

the light no longer bounces.

the day draws in

the song and buzzing settles.

a cocktail slightly too sweet

now ice in the bottom of a glass you are scared to break.

left with pictures that you look back on

taken to boast to people.

and the craving comes back.

Author's Note

Any constructive feedback/ comments are welcome. :)