PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There once was an island in the middle of a vast and volatile ocean.  This island was very accessible to the swimmers that surrounded it.  The swimmers laughed and talked amoungst themselves, but sometimes they were left alone to swim.



Becoming bored or lonely, the lone swimmer would climb onto the island and reside there, until another swimmer returned to occupy them once again.  The island would see the swimmer approaching shore, and would become filled with joy.  Alas, the island knew that its purpose was only very temporary and substitutional.



With this knowledge, it would weep until its sand turned to mud.  The island had known for  a long time that the swimmers were only using it for selfish reasons, but for as long as they stayed, it refused to care.



The swimmers seemed to think that they knew the ins and outs of the island, but this is only because none of them ever bothered to venture from the footpaths that they had decided easiest, most likeable, or tolerable.  If they had done so, they would had discovered more to this island than they had first assumed.  For there were hidden treasures and poisonous insects no swimmer had yet come across.  If a swimmer had done so, the further and further they had strayed from the footpath, the more lost they would have become.



However, if a swimmer had shown such interest, the island would have prevented them from venturing away from the path, by any means necessary.  The island did not want a swimmer to pry.  Mostly it was just afraid.



The island sat awkwardly in its place, watching the swimmers enjoy the ocean.  It longed to break into little pieces, joining them, splashing and laughing in their games.  But this could never be, as the island could not swim, and was afraid of water.  Plus, where would the swimmers go to rest when they became tired of the ocean?  Did a more appealing island lurk somewhere?



The swimmers made sandcastles and slept upon the sand.  But the island was only required for a certain period of time and was once again left abandoned.  This left the island sad.  It saw no point in letting trees and plants grow and flourish, and golden sand was left grey.  Grey and rocky, rough to the skin of the swimmers.



As much as the island knew that the swimmers did not see the true island or care what lurked upon it, it liked to pretend not to notice this.  As the island enjoyed the swimmers visits so much, it ignored the fact that they did not see its colours or its scenery.  The swimmers simply liked its location, accessibility, and its williness to be inhabited.



The island usually blamed itself for its isolation.  It knew that allowing these inhabitants to visit it when there was nowhere else to go had led to such a routine.  It also blamed its bland appearance for the reason they grew quickly tired and returned to the ocean.  The island suspected that the swimmers were disgusted by its texture, shape, and the plants that it had grown.  Alas, the island could not change these things.  But sometimes it became angered.



As the swimmers paddled back out to sea, it found itself wishing that they would slowly drown.  But still, the island knew that if such a thing were to occur, it would have quickly washed them back to shore, before any damage could occur.



Most of the time, the swimmers turned their backs to the island, to talk amoungst themselves.  When the island knew they were not watching, it woulld self- destruct.  A tropical storm, lasting long enough to dampen the sand, but only until an inhabitant would return.  The island would allow the insects to unleash their poison, letting the leaves fall from the trees, the sand cave in, and the tide wash upon its dormant shores.  The island knew that it could make bigger footprints upon itself than the swimmers ever could.  Deeper, fuller, secret ones.  For the swimmers could only kick the sand out of place, whereas the island could dismantle each grain, piece by piece.



The island washed away its own shores, and killed its own plants.  One day, the island might re-locate to another part of the ocean, as it often tries to do.  It sits there trying to absorb the sun, hoping for continued rays of light.  Alas, from a distance, a new group of swimmers approach the island, smiling at its accessibility.  The island likes to think that it is loved, but it is only needed.



Often, the island longs to sink into that ocean it once arose from.  Drowning upon its mass, choking upon its salt, suffocating upon those waves that crash too hard upon it.