Brokewater Bay

Hide the signs and swallow the brine; secrets they’re sure to stay.

"Outside the family, don’t tell a soul,

Of the curse of Brokewater Bay."

~

Great-Grandfather Lloyd, when he was a boy, went down for an afternoon play.

Never uttered a word how he got all those scars,

And drank to an early grave.

~

Grandfather Gene, the youngest of three, took a dive at his father’s behest.

Got bashed by rocks, dragged through the sand,

And kept those horrors suppressed.

~

At first as a kid, Dad was strictly forbid to go near Brokewater Bay.

Then Grandpa Gene snapped, dragging Dad back,

And dunked him under the waves.

~

Mom didn’t step in, though knew I had been with Dad at that harrowing beach.

A slave to the call as his forefathers were,

And far too gone to reach.

~

I’m still alive, but barely survived my time at Brokewater Bay.

It calls to me strong to go with the flow,

Like the blood coursing my veins.

~

Till my last dying breath, I won’t soon forget the frothing, turbulent tides.

But I’m wise to the call; it ends with me.

The waters will one day run dry.