In the deserted island of my mind,

cotton candy memories float by,

followed by fog and bomber planes,

raining shrapnel of a painful past

and Nostradamus future. 

 

I am tempted to retreat, 

among the trees, 

where no one can find me. 

Give up my majestic seat 

on the sandy shores of time. 

 

Boldly I remain, 

sheltered in plain sight,

like a hermit crab,

trying to fly,

while the castaway, 

observes it all, 

with a curious eye.