Upon the strand of a beach so fair,
the dappled thread of golden hair,
rinsed and washed by withering waves
seeking to clean its spoils and frays.
Twisted around the neck of a cliff
the sea shall swathe the island in mist.
Only the speck of a hotel white
can bleach the flawless shade of night.
To explore the caves around this shore,
then crawl back home forever more;
to taste the salt-stung ghosts that float
a journey of horrors, entails no note.
In hollow dank caverns the truth reveals,
yet for a young boy it remains concealed
in the tangles of anguish, domestic despair
he’s left quite desperate and prone not to care.
Upon a quest he must embark
to chase the maiden perceived in the dark,
and catch the shadows of symbols quick
become stronger and board this ship;
This terrible vessel will not bear him home.
Firstly, from a clandestine nest he must have flown
to break from the gloom surrounding his name,
to purge all the secrets from whence he came.
Only ghosts he collects, leaving him vexed;
the island yet moans: ‘where will he go next?’
And the wind whips at the hotel’s affairs
whilst the villain sleeps still within his lair.
Impossible slanders he cannot overcome,
his story exposed, nature now shunned.
For what is a Mother who abandons her care?
A quiet reminder of the sea’s mellow stare.