On an obscure island fell a plane
And spilled forth its hapless survivors
Young boys of decent birth
And hitherto unburdened by worldly concerns
But young and hence impressionable

Alas! To their destiny’s woe
They chanced upon an occult conch
And fell prey to regression’s rage
That seeped through and sullied their souls
And into savages turned them

One does wonder the depth to which
The author delved to relay his intent
For today regression’s rage
Not requiring an author’s contrived world
Nor the occult powers of a conch
Invisible in form and subtle in nature
Does in our minds manifest