An Empty Bottle:  I am both the bottle and the sender. I pour out the words and cast them to the air it seems. I am not sure why I continue to hold onto the faith that I can make a positive difference in a world of bottled up pain. For the most part, my method has failed at this time in history: 1977-2007.

 

An Empty Bottle

Here I sit
Now clearly see
The fate of my efforts.
The ocean beats against this rock
Like swells and exhalations
Of a watery Beast
Furious that I am still
On the cliff
Legs dangling
Tauntingly...
Or so it thinks.

Always the wind blows
Against me
From the left-then the right
In my face it forces salty tears
I refuse to give freely.
From behind it gives
An unfriendly shove.

Only at low tide
In the calm of sunset
I can lift the large quartz
From my stack of paper.
My finger traces invisible words
While the water knowingly waits
For the falling one
To land softly on its surface,
Eager to toss it to and fro
Until it obediently sinks
Wordless and forgotten.

Another message
Out of the bottle



Ciera S. Louise c. June 23, 2006