I have never been stranded on a deserted island, but
I've seen others go. Many a friend has walked along
That infamous way so broken and winding, off to distant shores.
They walk, then run, then swim, to a land
No one sees but themselves. A land with a heartbeat that hums
Through their skins.
They get lost,
You see, searching for a home, or escaping from one,
They forward go, sans rest, sans breath, until
Their legs give out beneath their own weight. They drown, or
Parched like plants, wilt under a sky that looms above without a care
That down there, children are dying. Those that
Make it to the island swim to land, and lay there on
Giant rocks as waves break over them, and raggedly
Breathe in the brine of a swill filled sea.
The island is cold or hot; For some there is too much harvest,
For others none; The land is filled with discarded needles and hopes;
It's a wasteland too bright or too dark to exist. The only way to return,
For these wanderlust afflicted children, is to go back.
It is harder than anything I have ever done, or will. These travelers
Who came all the way to this purgatory, must turn back
And face themselves,
and the odds, in an effort to find truth.
If I ever find myself somehow walking down the twisted road
That leads me to this island, I'd want my sister to walk
By my side. I have
Never been without my sister, but she has been
Without me. Once she sojourned in her island, where the rigid
Ground cracked beneath her feet, where the water ever rising
Reflected her image like a mirror as it drowned her. Once,
The girl who smiled like a sun, sat under that orbs piercing light with
Cracked lips and blonde hair turned to straw. Only the strongest
Return, and my sister rose from that fire
Like a Phoenix.
Not unharmed, but untainted.