The Island which has visited me thrice already in my dreams...

Pristine, Immovable Island

You stand towering in the distance off the shore which I stand.

My ears are numb to the shrieks and moans

Of desperate persons around me who claw at my knees

Grapple at my waist

They are a mass of elongated faces

Devouring, depthless mouths.

In a perverse cacophony of exaltation, they cry, “Help me, Help me!”

I tremble as my hands fill with what seems thousands-

Thousands of tiny bundles

that fill the air with their shrill cries

And numbly, I coddle each.

Tender kisses and hushed “Shh, shh, mother’s here.”

Pass the lips of my world’s first rising sun.

All mother of the abandoned, Patron Saint never disbanded, Nor offered more than a baby they couldn’t care for.

Nepotic mother’s dance at high noon

A mass of apathetic, selfish, and unbolted screws.

Stay clear she-wolves, off my babes

I devout this life to rearing them against your mechanistic ways.

Farther you seem to move, fading with the sun set

Grander than the new moon.

Like the tower of Babel, you call to me,

Dangling coherence’s tranquility.

Soon they are old enough to stand To smile and shake a Boss’s hand.

I hand them back, one-by-one

“My God, my Gods this work is done.”

And once the last is taken off my hands I step off that gripping sand.

Down to the bottom of a cool, dark sea.

My limbs stretch out and reach for thee.

This journey to you offers more than stagnation upon the shore Where protest is snuffed out

By bottles, pills, and the razor's sharp mouth.

You heal the cove of this silenced mind

And send a current to carry me high.

I am elevated to your land.

This mossy inn.

Endless vast nothing,

Cool splashing spray,

Converse with this aged youth, Your enochian exalting embrace.