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Hollowed by thy displacement
Stopping at every barren tree to spell your name backwards in the dirt
Using it's voice as an analogy of people who don't feel like trying anymore
And then tomorrow, I would check to see the wind's ignorant destruction, and you would be gone again.
Now my voice exist again, not only as a vibration, but as a symbol for why I don't need to do anything anymore
The time that was swept away by the sea has returned gasping for air, resurrected by the metaphor that gave it life
Now once again I throw rocks into it's vastness, hoping that the ripples can reach their true origin. They cannot
Defaced by the marker that leeched the ink from this very page, I am marked
Left inside of this twisted irony, in which I cannot relate to. An introspection of a man that I have never met
Though I must say on his behalf, I never did mean to romanticize his life. Or erase the very foundation on which it was upheld.
No. I just wanted to see if I could still write.
