Love hasn't visited this island
in quite some time.
Scared of its mysterious mountains
and foggy hills,
Its creepy forests and
cursed landfills.
Terrified
that setting foot
upon this countryside
would be like
standing on a beach
at high tide.
Traversing miles,
she sails around,
avoid the Isles,
the haunted ground.
She eyes the darkened outcrops
rocky cliffsides
with treacherous drops.
She traverses the sea,
as far away as she needs be
To avoid the pull, the song she hears,
the full on wail, the mournful tears.
Love hasn't visited these Isles
in quite a while,
So scared is she of the locals.
The vocal majority. Speaking tongues.
Singing haunting chanted songs.
Anyone who has set foot upon
this land has never returned.
Believed dead, thought long gone.
Love has avoided this land,
not accepted its held out hand,
nor felt the waves delicate touch.
If she knew the truth,
she would realise,
no one is ever heard of again
because they fall in love.
With the soil and the sands,
the flowers that cover the land.
They fall in love
with the trees
that grow umbrellas above.
The locals with their songs
of how far they would roam,
to be on this island
to which they call home.
Thanks for reading
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