This could be me,
As he sat drowning.
Without water a lonely table,
Always takes him in.
He grabs the mast-like mind swiftly,
And a pen with his other hand gently.
The shore a dream,
A secret reality no trail involved.
Just a thought and some words,
That seem to lead the way.
Bare feet in meaningless sand,
Gripping to all one can\'t have.
Those stars and moon aren\'t real,
Only all that life can give out.
But such a thing so far away,
What does it mean anyway?
Slowly descend into the trees,
As the palms make rude faces.
The ferns have a life of their own,
They\'re faces that I tend to know.
Most I have known so well,
Some I haven\'t met yet.
Where is this island truly,
I\'m lost, lost.