A poem
No one is an island, they say
but they lie, for what else are we?
Bounded by our hard egos
and separated by a vast sea
of sheer individuality.
Yet, we are not isolated
for from island to island
leaky boats incessantly float
on currents of speech piloted
by unskilled thought…
And long before they reach
the shores, they capsize
or else arrive broken,
and unbeknownst to us,
lie in our name.
Then, when the other responds
in defence, or aggressively,
we know not to what,
but we reply in kind
And so remain…
Islands.