Every Man is An Island

On islands each of us live with Nothing but flimsy thread As connection, but it can give. On some islands is a wide spread Of luscious diamonds and Sparkling champagne. Some tug on their strings To pull up a friend Or love they gain, And so forget solitary things. On mine is beautiful prose, for The shadows of past giants Cast in their wake A steady beat of oars. As my isle can only be compliant, It ripples away. My thread, it breaks.