You must read the sails of my ship.
Now this action is to be taken,
but there should be caution,
a cotton covered remembrance of childhood fears.
Can you see the Isle of Lyrah ?
The attention to the landscape rises to the top of the voyagers’ minds.
Curiosity, however exaggerated, is an elevated dust cloud of uncertainty,
smoke it slowly.
Global travellers cranked up images,
as the Rocks scraped Rock with a whining roar.
From above , photographic recording showed hot details of Quick indignation.
Strange jointed excrescences studded the cliff’s surface,
forgotten glyphs of a forgotten age.
Evertor of truth, the Grandiloquent of Curiosity sailed into the Bay of Deceitful Kisses,
the still rising cloud that climbed the precipices was not smoke,
but dusty tears.
Fitfully the crew worried as they approached unnamed shores,
sands of prayers or curses –
It was certain in contrast to previous landfalls,
when the promise of deception and the distrust came;
the Blue Birds of the Isle arrived,
Startling blue secrets sang laments and welcome
on wings of wistful recollections,
dreaming wisps of salt stained shadows,
A dim racial memory – artefacts,
Products of when the Folk had leisure to imagine and time to build.