The Island

It’s getting cold on the island and the weather is meant to say,

“leave before its biter, you know you only came here to play.”

But I’ve loved on this island, and cried on this island

and picked up trash on the way home from the bars.

I’ve stared up at the stars and planned a ultimate future then forgotten .

  I’ve been a day tripper, soul flipper and stepped on my pride. 

 Been eaten alive and

seen scenes contrived.  Hurt beautiful people and tried

to live life in harmony with the trees and breeze and seas.

Played up empathy and had multiple epiphanies about the way

I view life and strife.  I have strived to do right.

My island will stand and plan adventures strange and queer

for yet another time. 

Until then I will practice Zen and the art of all sublime.

Reflect on how being here seems a crime to the grind. 

And remind myself not every poem needs to end with a rhyme.