I know every inch of this island

and can’t stand the sight of it.

I flinch at the hills and the

tips of the trees as they rise

from the valleys I visit each day.

I stare at the storms at sea

encircling me

from the edge of the bay.

The last of the settlers sailed away

in clearer waters and days of yore,

before the storms made leaving shore



I could disrobe and walk into the sea to

drown in my inadequacies,

or starve until I eat myself in hope of

nothing more.

© Sam Hunt, 2018


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s