Alone on an island, seeking someone to speak to
The thoughts of my living, of all the things that ensue
But no one is near, and my words fade and go
Yet I have a method, that I’ve come to know.
I speak into the wind, but it blows back in my face
Circles my head, and disappears without a trace.
Like a song it is similar, it fades just as it is heard
It’s just notes and tones, and a few little words.
So I come to write, just to share it, good or bad
And hope that it pleases, teases, or even makes one sad
For an echo is not an echo if there is no rebound
It’s the tinkling of music, notes hitting the ground
So I travel to Book island, though it’s said to be a game
But sharing what I have to give, hoping it isn’t all the same
I want no extra points, nor to score higher than the rest
Getting it out and sharing, has always been the best.