Stranded

Stranded
Listening to the sluicing of conversation,
the lull and roar of the rushing minutes,
I am often drowned in the silence that surrounds me.
I look across the room to see the crowds,
where one laughs and all laugh, and sometimes one cries.
Elsewhere a small group of friends tell the story
how they met someone over the weekend,
how they ought to call him or her sometime, maybe.
A young couple holds hands and forgets
that the sounds around them are more than waves
crashing and breaking on their solitary island.

And even more are stranded alone on their islands,
calling out, though no one hears them in the wind.
They light fires, wreck ships, run into the dangerous ocean
and still no one sees them to extend a hand.
What is lost in the confusion of the rhythm of water?
My cliffs are eroding; my shore is slipping away.

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So I was sitting around waiting for some friends and decided to "just start writing" and this is basically what I got. I like it; I think it turned out pretty well. Funny though how I have certain themes that just tend to pop up more often than others in my poetry. i don't mean it, I swear; they just pop up. Anyway, I'm sure plenty of revision could help this turn from a good to a great poem, so help me out.