Island Poem by Kewayne Wadley

Am I the boat,
And you the sea.
Growing in depth, polished by each paddle of wood,
Long strokes in An field of blue, stretching long.
lost in the motion of the currents.
the clear sky subsides.
Quivering inside the tide of desire.
My arms grow tired from pulling back the ores.
The clouds cast their shadow in front of the sun.
Inching closer to the ever growing horizon.
Beckoning me to come closer.
Whispering waves splash against the side of the boat.
No longer landlocked.
in motion.
An Man made land form.
Comprehension of the oral beads of water
spraying against my face.
Folding in the lapel of my eyes.
Fluttering in lapping intervals.
Am I the boat,
And you the sea.
A reoccurring Climax reaching it's peak.
Penetrated by the steady movement of propelling forward.
The clouds move as one,
A peninsula painted white in a canus of blue.
Inching closer to the ever growing horizon.
Am I the sea,
And you the island.
sitting far off in the distance.
An object of desire after drifting for so long.
A still pendulum.
The fruit whom pulp quenches the thirst,
I must hurry before hydration sets in.
To taste the sweet meat found inside.
No longer suffocated, isolated by the thought of being alone.
Setting sail to the island of you