I made it to the island

 Ive drifted out toward this island
seamonsters haven't taken my legs yet
or dragged me into the depths
where I would be consumed

I stand on the island
the proud midgit that I am
lightening cracks
the darkest of dark

the desperate pines clinging to the water's edge
my legs have become them

Nightfall has made its presence fully known
the broad calls of suffering phantoms erupts
over the murky water
The night vulture settles on a stick protruding from the pool

seeking itself in the mirror of the surface
No floating carrion
No sense of survival
Just pulsating vanity

I've drifted out here
and questioned myself
what does one become
when the earthly comforts are gone

and the deep cold
and long darknesses
are the only embrace