The world broke my heart, when i learned i am an island.
Barren; any soul washed upon my shore is destined to die,
starved and addled by the blazing sun.
The glimmer of a mirror was the promise of buried treasure,
but anything here was taken a long time ago.
Your fools gold is the shifting sand you dig, 
trickling through your fingers, loose yet impenetrable.
Naive hands shape me into anything you desire;
my form bringing to life your imaginings.
Yet those sandcastles wash away at high tide,
the dust of your sun-bleached bones with them.
And I, returning any sign of you to the burning sand,
watch you sail over the orange horizon.