Island Poem by Spencer Heitmann

I burnt my bridges.
I kept burning them,
until I found myself on an island.

Mistakes were made,
opportunities were missed.
Now I sit alone
trapped on my Island.

Islands themselves are fine.
Only the desire to leave
makes them unbearable.

Why do I write this?
An odd question, since
I brought ink to the page.
Why write? Why do anything?
I am dust on a pebble in the sky.

While thinking this I see another,
a woman stuck on an island next to mine.
By ourselves and stick by stick
we built a bridge and met in the middle.
Now we are together on our island.