I write,
So I don’t forget,
I write,
So I don’t have to remember,
For I have these pages
Holding the present,
The past and the future.
These bits and pieces
That go missing in an ocean of words.
A ripple that I don’t cause,
A whirlpool that takes it all –
It dissolves like salt in water,
Only for the sun to find,
And there are only a few stars,
Who know how to read the rocks,
And take them to a museum,
When I will be long gone,
And nothing shall remain of me,
But words,
There will be words
That I had once thought of,
And there will be words
That had once tried to make the difference,
And then there will be some
That will try to sum me up
Into a carving on a stone,
And people would think –
I was only ever everything it’d say.