Aged by time on a rocky outcrop.

Bent crooked by seasons of Melteme winds,

All that remains is a feint glimpse into an untenable life.

A life removed from a good life just a few breaststrokes across the bay,

To a futile life of pain, scant hope and isolation.

For this quiet island of endurance, solitude and tears

Is the island of no return, where life and nature meld as one.

The island of the damned

Where dreams never escape the shadows

And laughter lies strangled by ghosts of past.

For this is Spinalonga.

Lonely Spinalonga.

The remains of last leper colony in Europe.

A means of removing the intractable invasion.

A means to an end.

The beginning of the end.

On the island of infinite tears.

FM