This is a message to those who are lost, written by a man unfit to deliver such messages.
I am no philosopher, prophet, or preacher.
Neither am I traveler, treasured, or teacher.
But a man sitting alone, on a beach full of sand.
Not much in both pockets, but a pen in my hand.
I’ve struggled to get here– by land, air, and sea.
My journey, like my purpose, long hidden from me.
As a young man and dreamer, I lived life on the edge.
I laughed and I played, ’till I found myself on a ledge.
My life savings run through, I could take out no loans,
women cost me dearly–no friends picked up their phones.
I’d been hung out to dry, like a towel on a rack.
Everything was lost; I stepped off into the black.
This is a message to those who are lost,
you sit on the ledge–eyes tired, legs crossed.
Hanging onto life with a grip slowly slipping,
eyes void of true love, on weary feet you’ve been tripping.
Pick up a pen, step away–you’re simply lost without Teacher.
After all, you’re not philosopher, prophet, or preacher.
**”Message In the Bottle” by Hermin Abramovitch via Deviantart