The everclear water remains touched only by nature.

The island enchanted with solitude allocates fallen trees.

They are the only company for the bewitched land.

Reminders of when the island was apart of the world

come to say hi with a note of dread and rot.

The cursed land cannot be seen by the naked eye

but the birds still come to visit him.

He watches them nest and fly.

Oh he wishes he could fly.

To soar between those serpentine clouds

and to be one with the wind.

Maybe a hurricane will come and fulfill his dream.

To finally disrupt those iridescent reflections.

The fantasy almost made him laugh.

He knew that the world would never listen.

For it bestowed this abhorrent punishment.

Slowly his rocks would crumble and dirt would give away.

For he can do nothing but fade away into the night.