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The Glowing Island
Every man needs an island to call his own.
Every second is a second closer to death,
And every hour will be lost at sometime.
Generations of flesh and bone under the soil.
And we're no different than any of the others.
Unless we fall to the fire.
In the living death we can smile and move to meet expectations.
Out in the open night where everything seems in clear sight.
Weakness cannot be perceived by the stars showing in an almost dead exterior.
The total element of pain shining through declares a bravery like no other.
But honesty and reality is intimidating to those who want to fear mortality.
A woman as beautiful as that will get everything she wants in life, they said.
What a sad way to live, he said, to know nothing of heartache.
What deep reservoirs of pain in the form of truth can remain in the ocean?
Shipwrecked cargo of sculptures from Greece that never had a chance to see light.
To live alone by the roaring winter sea.
With only the apparition of the other half of your envisioned soul.
Bring her to life, the one with flaws and treasures only she knows.
She is the one who I want to have and hold.
Out among the ocean, where the land foundation resides.
At night it illuminates with an unknown vibrancy.
A land forgotten for centuries; what inhabits the soil?
Some who have braved the waves, say the tile and
temples remain intact. From 3,000 years ago without
ruin. Near the edge the water from the open mouths of the
stone lions continues to flow. In the square of the isle the
angel of death. A statue black with golden eyes, she is
cracked with age. Holding torch long distinguished by the
wind. The one living element of the sage known as time.
There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in.
If death lives by night then golden eyes pierce the misty
fog. Where man is given strength to look onward and
meet that which eludes him.
