Islands

My ideas are like islands adrift
In the sea that resides inside my skull.
The water sweeping beside them is swift
Though the exterior landscape is dull.
Between them lies the long-sunken wreckage
Of disembodied documents I've read.
On their shores, harbors await the dockage
Where understanding is traded and spread.
Occasionally, storms of frustration
May ravage that sea, generating
The loss of previous affirmations—
But what frustrates becomes liberating.
I voyage to where the current is calm,
And let it flow out from beneath my palm.

poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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