by-Matthew F. Blowers III

Life is an island

we are often stranded on,

surrounded by

oceans of loneliness,

after being set adrift

by the voyages of necessity,

our home far away

and now deeply cherished,

where once we were

sometimes sick of being home,

but now we find ourselves

simply homesick.

But Islands can

be a paradise

if we strive to adjust,

to a temporary disruption

of what once was norm,

They are full of

natives to befriend,

and many tasks

to distract us,

that in the long run,

will allow us to buy

and build our own homes,

Places our children can

cherish and long for,

when they too are set adrift

over the seas of time.

Is it not testimony to

how wonderful your family is,

to be single and free,

and making your own way,

and yet hunger for that

familiar gathering place

but the love is still there,

still warm and near,

even though miles separate you

from the smiles of your youth.

My child home is gone now,

torn down and made

into a golf course,

I often go back and sit

on the ninth hole

where my old house,

used to stand

filled with five kids

and two parents,

who gave us as much love

as poverty could grant

in the projects that

we called our neighborhood.

My homestead became Atlantis,

just another island,

sinking beneath the

rolling tides of time.

But I still have endless

memories on which to sail,

back to the open arms

of my long dead mother,

back to the toothless

grin of my dying dad,

And in their eyes, I see

a homesickness too,

but our next mansion

lies beyond this realm,

somewhere on an island

above us, far from reach,

as we live out our lives

marooned from those we love,

by the courses fate has

charted for us to follow.

This too shall pass,

and you will visit often,

Summers will be your

trusty old room,

filled with echoes

of glorious days past,

welcoming you back

with open arms