Words

Talk is cheap

Words are whatever we want them to be,

I want them to talk to my soul

But words these days are shards of corrupted metal and hate.

There's a message in a bottle

Waiting to be found 

It's spinning in the Mid-Atlantic, 40*N by 77*W

While I stand on the beach with seagulls and dead crabs, searching.

It's hard to find answers when the tide keeps turning

And the winds keep changing

I'm waiting for answers in the seaweed and driftwood

But I'm left with my own questioning mind.

There's a part of the brain with no words

It sees sunset and becomes it

It hears a symphony and floats with each note

It sits silently waiting for us to listen

But I'm staring at the horizon, oblivious

There's a world spinning out of control

It's right behind me

Flowing with cheap words and empty promises

What can I say

Words are weapons these days or a cry for help

Somewhere a person stands on a lonely island

Putting a message in a bottle

Thinking

"Why can't anyone hear me?"