Every man is an island
Or so it is said
Every man has his castle, his sanctum,
And a man's queen is his castle,
Or so I have heard.
So perhaps, if all men are an island,
Then the world we are set to ruin
Is to meet its end of a purposeful accord.
For if every man is an island,
Or so it is said,
And each man has a different worth to his bed,
To the furnishings through his sanctum
And the worth of his castle, the queen that presides,
And yet they all are worth the same in the end,
What point would there be to preserve it
And what point would there be
To, of those resources, hoard?
What value is had if,
You cannot bring those riches with you?
Or so I have heard.
All the riches amassed,
The queen in the sanctum, different cuts of one and the same?
If at the end of it all, the castle will crumble
Perish along with you
Collapse into the sand of your island
And wash away in the tides of time?
On a small scale, perhaps,
Or so one can think,
Perhaps that is why a man leads his island to ruin.
Perhaps that is why he lets his castle collapse,
His queen wither,
His island sink beneath the foam of the sea?
Because he cannot handle the waves,
Ever-lapping,
Ever-sapping the strength from his rock into sand at the shore?
Perhaps,
If each man is an island,
And men control,
And each man lets his island waste away,
Or so one can say,
Perhaps, one may think,
Perhaps that is why the world is at the brink
It teeters on
And in that way
It shall always stay.
Perhaps,
If each man is an island,
And men control,
And the world is made of the isles of man,
Perhaps that is the drive for which all men shall strive
Let the flooding take over, wash weight off their shoulders,
The crowns off their heads,
And take everyone to the bottom of the sea?
For as one can claim,
If each man is an island,
And the isles of man make the world as we see,
And if none are yet left at the surface of sea,
Then that washes them clean of their sin
Til the old world's collapse, as the new isles begin.


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