Lost For Words

Dear Sandy, 

I come from a remote island 

standed in the sea

nonsensically 

wanting to tell this to thee, 

tell you that: 

 

Words

are things

you can't

hold onto.

 

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

randomly

to make mostly quaint

rarely powerful

appearances.

 

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?

Just ignore

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:

time.

A thing whose ultimate end is

death.

 

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.

 

That,

(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

am I...

 

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

right now

as I sit here on an island and lie low

on the ground

weakly shaking

and stuffing

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

Losing life

I send these words to thee,

Sandy

 

You, my girl, like me

will be

blown away forever

in death,

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

floating

in the tides of the sea.

 

Don't forget me.

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

Comments