The Legend of Treasure Island

The raiments of light shower down
like no tomorrow, raining beams of stardust
onto the dark and dusty earth, faintly
we see, the magical opportunity of a lifetime.

A great boat of riches filled with gold and gems
sailing in the air like out of some fairy tale venture
blowing hornlike sounds to the atmosphere
possibly proclaiming some great celebration.

And then in the distance, left behind like a
pointless, underestimated, stray dog.
A poor deserted floating mass of land,
under the shower of rainbows and petals.

A thunderbolt! Watch out for the raging storm
as it whirlwinds, and typhoons, and hurricanes itself
towards the unfortunate galleon vessel,
desperately trying to avoid Heaven's Onslaught.

Hastily, they dodge and weave but to no avail
An electric bolt strikes the port bow and the boat,
sinks into the dense void, the sky's oblivion.
Spilling it's riches and gems, scattering: no more celebration

And the treasures float there, just float in the air
like magic from some blasted forgotten miracle
the wind carries and whistles, and blows and pushes,
this tumultous, pile of unearthly wealth back, back.

Back to the island, the floating mass, the land
of dreams, wishes, conformation of youth.
The eternal continent, the everlasting country
recieves the gift that showers down with the wind, like light.

A gift that decieved, tempted and infatuated humankind for centuries past and more to come.