Castaway

I don’t want to just survive, I want to live
No more sipping the dew from palm fronds
I want to run into the spring, dive underneath
And find a hidden world waiting for me
Full of flashing fish unseen by human eyes
And coral colored in hues of pink and orange

I’ve been growing my castaway beard for 30 years
And now I want the tools to shave my face
Reclaim my identity, not as the stranded survivor
On an isolated island, but as the man who came back

I wrote out a message HELP, I spelled it in the sand
There is a plane in the distance and when I see it
I remember a life I’m not sure that I lived
One filled with quiet moments
Sad moments. Happy ones too.

My only memory is of this island, I know it so well
The moss that grows only on the east side of the trees
I can eat that and won’t feel poison gnawing away at me
But with most plants, I have to take that risk first to find out

A flower blooms bright and looks lovely can also be filled
With a venom that will leave me curled up on the ground
Filled with a numbness and heaviness in my limbs that
No panacea can cure, no guidebook can warn, no doctor can fix

So why, as the plane flies closer, do I feel that poison filling my gut?
Why do I look at the rocks and feel regret that I will be saved?
I know why.

I am a survivor. I’ve battled against torrential rain, pounding waves
Vicious heat and the twisting pain of starvation.
Every day, I woke up and knew that if I made it to the end of that day,
I was the winner. The evils that tried to kill me had failed.

What is a survivor after he has finished surviving?
The plane flies closer.
What is the point of getting to be happy and safe?
I can hear its engines now.
What if this life is the most purposeful I’ll ever feel?
It’s low enough that it should see me.
What if this island is not my prison, but my home?