Metaphor Isle

A cool Isle.

I awake on a cerulean sea;
my bed is carried along on the waves.
high up above is a blue birthing spree,
below me fathoms of watery graves.
Then in the distance a small piece of land
that steadily rises as I get near.
Soon I'm ashore on a long reach of sand
where novel images often appear.

It is metaphor isle,
and I'll stay for awhile,
it is tropical style,
where the beach is a smile.
It is palm trees that sway,
and the bath is a bay,
on the tide of the day
currents take me away.

As I explore I am bit by a claw--
the island is beauty and it is life.
I'm on the edge of a coral see-saw,
and there are times that it cuts life a knife.
Further inland a volcano acts up,
it gives its ash and its lava en mass;
but a caldera is forged to erupt,
the earth is both velvet, and it is brass.

It is metaphor isle,
and I welcome the trial,
all the cares in one pile,
give a foot, take a mile.
Whether day or at night,
whether blinded by light,
an invisible sight,
what is left is all right.