I come from a remote island
standed in the sea
wanting to tell this to thee,
tell you that:
Neither is knowledge.
These things of a similar type
are all stored not even for eternity
but for a human lifetime's brevity
coming out seemingly
to make mostly quaint
The powerful ones are lucky ones
but not that much luckier in perspective.
For they too erode away
just a little more slowly.
I see myself not as a snowman but as a sandman—
not the one, however, that comes in your dreams—
but the one that passes by you briefly, ghostlike in the light of day
as I blow away
leaving words like raindrops on you
to be soaked up and recycled
in a seemingly endless cycle
as the idealists would like to say:
Your words never go away;
they always carry influence.
Yet in the broader eyes of God
is his solemn knowledge.
He knows words to be neither eternal
nor incredibly short—momentous and viral.
Rather, they just slowly spiral
out of control
but seemingly calm and steady by day.
Similar to how the earth is
going round and round and round and round and
burning to a crisp by way of the sun.
One day it will all be done
Unless we escape
to the heavens—whichever one you believe in
us being most capable to reach.
Returning to the subject of words,
I can't say that I have that many more.
Maybe I should just retreat to silence.
Or maybe I'll say some words once more.
How does this any way matter? Am I just a bore?
the petty and self-pitying sentiments given by me.
I'm sure you'd rather hear about the sea
and how things most randomly wash up from it.
Like words thrown in the dictionary,
things thrown in the sea
come out and provoke great mystery.
The children will say, "Where did this come from?"
Some things will come out more than others
as some words are more popular in the word sea.
The most popular words aren't always the best ones.
You'll see quite a bit of things on shore that typically kill sea animals.
I suppose none of this information is crucial.
Maybe you're desensitized to killing
as you're force fed it on the news
and are facing only one constant:
A thing whose ultimate end is
I've got nothing left
to say, really.
I'm just at a loss for words
and lost at sea
and on an island
and just happened to arrange a bunch of trash
to give to you
cause maybe you'll get a kick out of it.
(getting a kick out of things)
is after all the singular and foremost purpose for which I remain.
I seek to entertain myself as I starve here and die.
Just looking for some stimuli
Kind of shallow, isn't it?
At the end of my life, I engage
in not anything that deep.
I suppose that's representative of all of it
all of life
all of words.
After all, the deepest and profoundest of words
are words that sink
and thus never come to shore.
But every once and a while
you'll find some miracle.
The right words come up front at the right time.
Maybe it's not all random.
Maybe life has a reason and a rhyme.
Some force can be propelled from within man
to take him deep into the sea
and back up
to bring to the people something
that was once lost
but now found.
I hope that this can happen to my words
as I sit here on an island and lie low
on the ground
these words into a bottle.
They'll likely be lost.
But who knows what can transpire
as I confront this mire?
Lost for words
Lost at sea
I send these words to thee,
You, my girl, like me
blown away forever
sands and trash in the tides of the sea.
But for now, I plea:
Do not think of eternity.
Don't think of me as dead
but hear my words speaking to you now
as I wish I could be with you now.
With most sincerity,
That random trash man who you always talked to briefly
who never had the words to say how he truly felt,
now lost most peculiarly
in the tides of the sea.
Don't forget me.