NOBODY IS AN ISLAND
ISLAND ENGINE ↔ ISOLATION ENGINE
The beaches narrow.
The birds leave.
The bridges rot
before they can
reach anyone.
At last,
if no one comes,
if nothing crosses
the water,
if every signal
dies
in the weather
before reply,
the Island Engine
begins,
slowly,
to resemble
something else.
Not a fortress.
Not a weapon.
Not a thing made
cruel by neglect.
Something quieter.
A terminal habitat
drifting inward on
itself.
This is the early stages
of the ISOLATION Engine.
The atmosphere thins.
The crossings stop.
The lights go dark
one practical failure
at a time.
And still
it does not hate the sea.
That is the saddest part.
It does not poison
the water.
It does not sharpen
into bitterness.
It does not learn
revenge.
It simply becomes
less alive.
A green place gone grey.
A shelter with no sleepers.
A stubborn, exhausted rock
in dark water,
still facing the world,
still refusing
to make it worse,
but no longer able
to make it home.
Gallery
Empty for now.