Under the dark Night Sky,
A remote island,
A wreaked boat,
With my companions
Nowhere to be found,
I was a cynosure
To the aborigines,
They offered foods and clothes,
Maybe shenanigans,
My pusillanimity craves their grenadines.
Sun rays crept into
the solivagant's tanned skin,
blinded the chocolate orbs
some time but still keen.
The horizon calls for another adventure!
disenthral ourselves from
disguised inanition,
repudiated the idea
craven Davy Jones' Locker.
Idiosyncrasies abhor
excogitating--escape,
a facinorous act that I'm doing.
Scintilla of doubt,
Surviving sea travelling,
Mite of hope,
Leaving naive hypocrite beliefs.
Have courage mate!
We ain't free men for nothing.
