Island

I live on an island

The ones I want are close, so very close to shore

I stayed locked by land while they explore

I fear them to be washing away

Roads have stretched out long and I can’t go too far

I hold yesterdays in my arms and put tomorrows at bay

And I’m not a saint.

I watch the sun order the morning to rise,

To mark the hundredth time I’ve woke with a heavy mind

Loading thought through the course of the day like a train aimed for night

Crowded with no station in sight

And I might long for ground below my feet turn my back on memories

I can’t remember where I placed my loyalties

And I’m not a saint.

I am seeing faces in the trees I seem limbs in the leaves

My thoughts are displaced I am blurred by daydreams

And by the night I am greeted by hot white stars

I have killed another day and am now lonesome for where the water lays

I live on an island held by a ring of shores

I long for them but am not sure what for.

And I’m not a saint.