by Jack Blatish

Created on: March 16, 2011

Dragged back to the island,

An ocean left unexplored.

Home to withered palm trees,

Stretched along the shore.

Back to broken shells,

And sand lines unfrozen.

The whipped hurricane has left,

And I have chosen.

Not to return for good,

Or that old repeated ideal.

Which loses direction like the wind,

Brushing my expression still.

To sink grains under weary feet,

Tired and collapsing again.

It will slow the water's tide,

But not enough to swim.

Learn more about this author, Jack Blatish.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.