Island

I live on an island
The ones I want are close, so very close to shore
I stayed locked by land while they explore
I fear them to be washing away
Roads have stretched out long and I can’t go too far
I hold yesterdays in my arms and put tomorrows at bay
And I’m not a saint.

I watch the sun order the morning to rise,
To mark the hundredth time I’ve woke with a heavy mind
Loading thought through the course of the day like a train aimed for night
Crowded with no station in sight
And I might long for ground below my feet turn my back on memories
I can’t remember where I placed my loyalties

And I’m not a saint.

I am seeing faces in the trees I seem limbs in the leaves
My thoughts are displaced I am blurred by daydreams
And by the night I am greeted by hot white stars
I have killed another day and am now lonesome for where the water lays
I live on an island held by a ring of shores
I long for them but am not sure what for.
And I’m not a saint.