Amelia Island Poem by chris bowen

the isle, eight miles.the style is wild.defiled by laws that came for balls and left with hammers.feed my head i stammer.the indian island, mostly a wild man, the timucuan.a favorite fawn drives by, decides to cry over eye to eye contact.me? i know mac the knife, he was a wife to strife.the life of me is generally the fee to pay to tell the devil hey.sway to the beats.i love the treats.me? i meet.defeat the enemy the lord has sworn, on amelia island i was born.to a love forlorn and gone.me, im left alone.the moan of a ghost hears me the most.he spoke, 'the freaks choke and what i wrote spoke to many thousands'.ill be on the island.