Time laps again,
In gentle rhythm and beat.
Time breathes life,
Into my dying body and heart.
Left for dead in the place,
That would fully regenerate all they took.
This life, This world, This humanity,
Takes all born to us, including love.
My Island, my life, my home,
my inwards world, contained here in this physical vessel,
ne’er again to float, but to stand rooted,
to core, to source, to all.
The world may lap at my shores,
It might leave debris, wreckage and rubble,
But it will not steal the earth that I grow from,
It may not take that which feeds my life…
All will come to pass in tiny waves,
Those which touch only my edges,
As I sit undisturbed by a world sailing by,
Never staying close enough, to build its own islands.
Storms may shake my leaves,
Reverberate through rock and cliff edge,
But my sands stay still, unquavering,
In the rage of mist, dust, and death, this mankind offers as life.