My Island

Nobody knows the 'real' us. Occasionally we let down our defences, and others get a glimpse behind the facade we present to the world. It is up to visitors to look with care, not judge, not condemn, not outstay their welcome…

My Island

I know a secret place
Alone I hold the key.
An Island refuge,
Haven of peace.
Surrounded by a restless sea.

Impregnable fortress. Citadel.
Built on shifting sand.
None tread on there or dwell,
Lest their guide is my hand.

A vast expanding labyrinth.
Brim full - yet room for more.
Shielded by protecting plinth,
Are passages galore.

Alleyways dark as night,
Avenues shining bright.
Deep crevasses in profusion
Adding turmoil to confusion.

Rooms offshoot this endless maze
Concealing all from others' gaze.
A vast amass of personal treasures,
Collection of a life's endeavours.

Cathedral caverns, carved and hewn
By crushing crests of my each 'High Noon'.
Seeking, searching, to rent asunder.
At each attempt - failing to plunder.

Like pebbles pulled and pushed
By tide's relentless rush,
Long lost gem-filled caves, like 'Brigadoon',
Fade - reappear at unexpected noon.

Jam-packed with life's jetsam
And remnants for reflection.
Oft times I survey this secretion.
All is there, defying deletion.

While no 'Pandora's Boxes' lurk within
My life has not been free of sin.
Some treasures, now would bear erasion
Other gems of my creation - bring elation.

Occasionally I invite you to visit my Isle.
Gaze around, tread - tarry a while.
But if staking claim - be gone
- To stay, you are not welcome.

This is my land, my hell, my Shangri La.
Given at birth - Though soon a fading star.
The shifting sands shake at the foundations.
Once gone - then total eradication.

When to my Island you get invite.
On being shown off, don't feel contrite.
Leave in peace, - for after all,
This Island is me - My mind, my soul.