Magical eau de vie trickling past storm tossed isles so bleak,
Wrapping its curative abilities around torn tattered history;
Creeping into crevices, inside my mind it attempts to seek
Why the isles are shrouded in the deep dungeon of mystery....
The liquor's legerdemain inculcates more and more frequently,
But the ability to ingest its admonitions grows ever so dim.
From a trickle it moves to pounding at my shoreline constantly,
And occasionally a monstrous wave surges, inundates on a whim....
Trapped inside an encircling gaol and the lock is rusted shut;
The booze assuages my thirst but never washes away the gloom.
Sometimes I think it tries to remind me where the key was put,
But as I said, the lock is rusted, keeping me prisoner in my room....
Roll past the rugged ragged rocks on the scree scattered shore.
Slowly polish them with a patina, a sheen of ocean green.
Toss all the wreckage found at sea both behind and before
Upon the beach at seaside, and I will salvage what I can glean....
But first I await the far off day when the rusted lock will break.
Meanwhile please don't forget that once I was a human too;
And a note to the doctors, hurry and find a palliative I can take
To return me to reality once again with the rest of you.....
