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.