the isles of isolation
dan spector

where the scars and the wounded cuts do show
the appearance and the recollections 
of a phantom torn dress
the spirits that raise with the cups in hand 
one
goes for a toast for this evenings birth
the other
goes on a voyage for our own destination
isolated at the isles of isolation

there is no better warmth
or a bitter winter's breath to choose
the ladders that we have climbed for envy
only pitfalls and settled traps
that downsize our apparitions to test 
time is here
wearing a leaches lonesome valor on his sleeves
the hollow trees
and their battered leaves point to a warning
if there is any remorse at the isles of isolation

dreaming of an ambrosia feast
settling in the sun's rays for paradise
dancing with the white rising haloed angels
with no strings to make a puppets cheer
with no sense of danger's ticket to pass
with no offspring bringing death
at our expense and annoyance
these our forbidden and cannot be trusted
along the shores and through the forbidden hills
at the isles of isolation

the isles bring disbelief
to the leprosy that was grieved
the isles bring utter misery
to the innocents that were deceived
the isles bring boundaries
to the former anarchists who once perceived
the best inside
lives forever and entwined at the isles of isolation

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