An island’s shore, a life complete,
Rituals etched, a steady beat.
Yet whimsy dances, light and free,
Blind to where horizons be.
My lodestone guides, a silent call,
Apart I walk, beyond the wall.
Each day’s blur, a dream grown faint,
Till stillness found, a writer’s plaint.
In scents and moments, small and deep,
A hidden pact, the soul to keep.
Returning home, where words reside,
Before the vision starts to hide.
THE LONELY WHITE WOLF 
Vision’s got a way of hiding ain’t it, but this poem seems to come from it with its lovely execution!
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