Friday Poems

The Last Island

Bored on a waver
cast upon sand
beyond the hand
of hope
Palm trees
sea view
plains of day
Sadly stars shine
I watch the night
fade away
Dawns born
breathing breeze
white crested fingers
try for the sky
Sun climbs high
Man needs
Or die
Still moments
never soon
sun's so hot
its [sic] afternoon
Go away, away
dizzy dizzy
see how I chase the day
I must be, my eyes are open
Ha! me a loon
Breezes blow, nightime [sic]
I love the moon