This day has sent me to an island,
My thoughts are pecking the wet sand.
The horizon is bereft, and the waves roar,
But I remember being a castaway, before.
Though all this seems too familiar,
I don’t really know how to live here.
I have never had my food alone,
Or If I have, those days are gone.
A broken raft is my only hope,
Old logs tied with a primitive rope.
Trees provide shade on this hot day,
But as time passes, I’m filled with dismay.
Loneliness is a museum of memories,
Deaths to which I’m an accessory.
If I had one wish, I’d wish for love,
As rare on this island, as is a dove.
A setting sun isn’t enough a despair,
Worse are things that you can’t repair.
Shattered hearts don’t just hurt rib-cages,
On such islands, they put you for ages.
But when it’s dark, the sea is swept away,
The land breeze makes a sail-worthy bay.
The raft is ready, and so is the food,
And so am I, under a makeshift hood.
So off I go, uncertain but with a drive,
I won’t give up; I know I will survive.
It may be tough, but I’ve seen worse,
To me, no island is as potent a curse.
When you find me, famished and weak,
Just remember that I refused to be meek.
And I’ll tell you how I endured the sea,
Stranded in the day, till the night rescued me.