In our world gone mad,
We have the thief in the night
Out in broad daylight
While we buy and sell, stealing
Away from calm and from sense.
There once was a man
From an island, it doesn't
Matter which. This tongue
Is the sole silhouette Time
Bequeathed to him for his trip.
The name of the place
From twenty-five years ago;
A memory's lane;
Psychoactivity's seeds
Referenced throughout childhood, why?
A place for my poems 