Soft words spoken,
seagulls, white caps, static and falling,
into an empty mind, just eyes watching,
a picture without a caption.
Soft sand, what was the plan?
Sinking further, am I supposed to stand,
or let go and lie down covered,
Pen and paper in hand.
Animal instincts, sex, escape,
meditate as granules wash and run,
off my feet, through my identity,
Cleansed, freeing the sanity.
hidden from what I could touch
An imprint is all that remains,
a fossil, an archaeological voice mixed with evolutionary change,
slowly dissolving in the wake,
of the tide.
When I’m gone, will you remember me?
Or is my memory,
just a caption without a picture.