I have no wooded isle all my own. No place where thoughts can wander, where spirits roam. My heart, empty for the filling, longs for space to expand and hold all of my minds secrets and wants in place for a soulful examination. I hold no one place for quiet revelry but look inside my own devices, my own mechanical store room for enlightenment. When gazes wander over my own I see nothing. I know nothing; I feel nothing in this empty place but my own self and the wanderings of my misguided thoughts. Were that I could remember them as I wander, wondering through the forests of my thoughts.