Castaways (Poetry)

The days are long, the time unknown
the stars hang low but out of reach
the trembling vision grows less strong —
a different sky and sea and beach —
that country lost, remembered, mourned —
the street, the house where I was born...

The air feels strange, the wind cries cold
the withered trees stand stark and bare
our dreams get tangled, re-arranged
our faces old, blank-eyed we stare
and search for signs we’re not alone —
but skies stretch empty, birds are flown.

The pebbles burn, the water stings
the fish lay gasping in the tide
the waves gleam darkly as they turn
wet-mouth the wounded island’s side
and fling odd gifts up on the sand —
frayed rope, a shoe, a severed hand...

The nights are longer, hours crawl
grotesque with monsters half alive
belief is fading, fear grows stronger
dulls the reason to survive
no wall for shelter or to keep
us safe in our abandoned sleep.