On oily doldrum waters, in the speechless sea
a lonely island lies. It’s soil is filled with crosses
and on its craggy shores rotting carcasses
of moored intentions are scattered, spread
There stories never told are feeding vultures
and what’s common sense is dead.
You reach it through the a belt of hurricanes,
through roaring brine and on breaking waves
of good intentions. You reach it after hope
have died and when sleepless sails are torn.
You reach it with a mouth of salt, ambitions
dwindling in relentless sun, your swollen tongue
a useless lump of flesh; when breath is shallow
after days at sea you see its hopeful shore
in indigo, shadow and mirage. Relieved
at first you hope to quench your thirst for truth,
but the island is a corpse, its bones is formed
from bitterness and tears, its marrow mockery,
On its sandy beaches, you can rest marooned
a while, you can lay there listening to words
erupting from the throats of faceless strangers,
you can suffer songs of shipwrecked souls
and when your voice has grown. stronger
you may join the choir — singing senseless syllables.
To the island of your words unsaid,
there is a ship arriving every month,
to feed the stranded lepers food and share
them useless dreams. On flat-screen monitors,
the sailors nourish you with flattery and
seed a sense of what you could have done,
they sooth you with the voices thick
from lovers lost, they bring you letters
wrought from dust in farce of faith.
You stand there being lured to trust,
but just as you are ready to repent, return,
the ship,and hope vanish, and for yet a month in
vain you have to sing the words you never said.
Today for Open Link Night on dVerse I have done the rare thing to rewrite an earlier poem. This was originally written for a prompt on toads on islands, with mythological and metaphorical aspects.
May 31, 2018