Words
Even alone, stranded on a deserted island, I need my Words.
I need them to fill my lungs with air, to give meaning to the silence.
Even though my voice is small,
And no one is listening.
Even though I have not mastered the art of wielding them,
And every essay swirls around like a hurricane,
And the topic sits dead in the eye.
May I speak?
There is something I need to say.
Just on the tip of my tongue.
It's-
Right-
There-
But it's not. Vanished like smoke.
And, even if I could find it,
Like I've said before (if you remember),
Nobody is listening.
They've gotten bored.
I HAVE A STORY TO TELL.
I'll tell the sands on my Island. I'll tell the sun, and I'll tell the sea.
Perhaps they will listen to me.
And I will master the art of crafting, wielding, singing, and shouting,
Words.