No (wo) man is an island
But is it possible to be the
Roaring ocean?
Swallowing rocks with animosity
And spitting out a
Glittery product
Of sandy turmoil

No (wo)man is an island
But is it possible to be the grey
Black boulders?
Among the edge
Where the green lush ends
And the midnight blue
Sadness begins.
Stagnant and indifferent
To the wild hearted seagulls
Perched and picking
Pointing out the imperfections
Of a jagged way of being

No (wo)man is an island
But is it possible to be the drifting
Lofty limitless clouds
A pertinent part of the  paradoxical ceiling
Of the globe
Floating and spreading
Fluffy wings of idealism
offering frustrating fantastical
Dreamy substance
To a crooked solidified world below

No (wo)man is an island
But is there just a small
Glimmering possibility
That if I wanted to be
I could be an island
Lone, and far away
From these
Destructive city slicker
Emotions
That stack on top of each other
Like the condos neighboring my mind
Crowding my consciousness