Skull Of The Island
An old dead stone watches with sightless eyes waiting for my fate to be his own.
Bleached a pale ghostly white on an old beach is someone's forgotten bone.
Longing to be remembered, begging to be praised,
Searching for an ounce of hope among the stars; his hollow eyes are raised.
The warm island sand gently cradles his peaceful head
as the salty waters creep silently ashore to kiss the forgotten dead.
The dark waters slowly recede revealing the white of a buried limb
and as the moonlight poors over his island he wishes someone had remembered him.