I thought we'd see the sunrise.
I thought we'd weather the storm.
Does it matter what I thought,
Since now you're gone?
Lost in a sea of everyone
You, my message in a bottle,
Float aimlessly away.
The sea closes around me.
Still, perched on my island,
I hope for a glint from your rim,
More than the beauty of the next sunset.
And, as your gorgeous glint passes over the horizon.
I beg the tide to change.

As the two lost lovers sat hopelessly in love. A crimson colored moon hung over the mountains. Shrouded by gloomy grey clouds it's ray shine down over the water of the dingy pond. The scent of freshly cut grass. The sounds of yelping bullfrogs. The splashing sounds of fish feeding. The wind howling in the background as the sat by the fire. Fire Flies flying by, buzzing as they pass. The fire snapping and cracks, smoking like a chimney. The putrid odor of smoked ripe jackfruit, cooking over the fire. The flame roasting the skin to ash, cooking the delicious fruit to perfection.

I am an island child,
Of dire rocks and thistle,
Clear lake and lone skies,
Of bonny birds who whistle,
I race the strands with tides,
Waiting for my lad to meet,
So lonely are the night stars
I dreamt in my loft to sleep,
Far is the isle of my mind,
To slip away on new voyage,
Near is the sorrow into kind,
As I wait for keep in marriage.

He pounded coffin nails
With a hammer forged of fear
Every word of spite nailing in and holding
Badged and vested
Death and bullets resting in his gun
But still frightened by this woman
Standing proud
Whom he could not bully
Nor subdue
Hammer, hammer, hammer
Testimony to the judge
That in all his years
He had never met a woman like her
Who acted like her
No respect
No fear
Of course not you fool
You charged into the camp
Of Boudicea
Come to **** and pillage
And fell beneath her sword
Hammer, hammer, hammer
You can lock her up
But you can never bury fear

Where I come from only a ferry stands between me and paradise.
And paradise is separated by oceans of water too fast to swim across.
Water too deep to thread and the air,  fresher and I am accustomed to.
There are more corbeaus than humming birds where I come from.
The stench of decay rises from houses made from bones.
Ashes mix to paint clouds and,
Mourning ushers mornings making melancholy known to sunlight .

Sunlight however is mostly appreciated by excavators,
Happy to exhume new corpses.
Rain falls from firearms instead of the sky and tears pour from open wounds instead of tear ducts.
And night is every horror movie given existence.
And night is every nightmare given existence.
And Paradise is somewhere behind the line where the sky kisses sea.
And sunsets are swallowed whole.

Deneka Thomas 2015

but i know there's no ghost on this island
cause his hands would be all covered in bud
not much else but a sight for the red eyed
a reality that seems real enough

everything you could want you can find by the beach
but after the music stops it seems everything dies
I've had my fun but I know its so empty
think i’ll just lay here until the sunrise

the dark waves of the night try to calm me
a drunk drag, lungs swell with liquid black
drowning in these thoughts on this island
hoping the waves will carry me back

You are an island
and I am the sea,
but somehow, ironically,
I am enveloped in thee.

Though, such should not imply what is typically assumed.

For island do not exist apart from all other things. They are chained to the earth by their foundations.

Let us take from this saying, instead of the formerly agreed upon interpretation, that, to be an island is to be distinct, but not separate from all else.