Cold blue water at my feet, wading through the waves.

Glancing down at my hands, hanging at my waist.

Lonely fingers dip through the water, never satisfied.

The bitter salt could never quench the desire of thirst in which I bide.

The lonely shore, where I sit, hands stretched to the sky,

Yelling in hope of my voice being heard,

By one besides the birds flying by.

Surrounded by growing life within the isolated land and sea;

Everything beautiful, but nothing cognitive, green and green and green.

As though I had fallen off the face of the earth,

I find my knowledge vain.

For if not to share your understanding and reason,

What is it but reminiscent pain?

The end of life will always be, to never be alone;

What more is found in being stranded,

Than a living death, and a homeless home?

To be kept away from those who speak,

I dare say I would find,

The living of life totally annihilated,

In the denigration of the mind.

For if the whole world were to be stranded,

Somewhere along the great blue sea,

The world would become silent, lost in their minds,

Forget to live, forget to be.

To exist without smile,

And be without touch,

Would render life beguiled,

Of the existing that gives life much.

Living comes from knowing, as knowing comes from existing so,

While one can exist without knowing, one cannot live without being able to know.

What one must know, that they may live,

Is how to not exist alone;

For what is existing, being stranded,

Than a living death, and a homeless home?