Islands

Today when I write our short, short story in words,
I want sunshine and laughter, tickles and giggles,
Naughty days and kisses, joys in our land of dreams,
But when words do come they have traces of tears,
A lost treasure, none can see or enter, a little space
A sacred space, where words are ciphers and myths,
Everyday a new script, with details added in for spice,
Beneath starry skies, on the seashore on lovely nights,
Music that heaven played with moonlight and waves,
Now silence, tears, aching hearts and burning memories,
Memories that never heal nor fade, written with fire,
Unreal, surreal, drawn with circles, colours and blood.
We wave desperate, deaf and blind, on either shore,
Having burnt boats and with tears, shout to each other.