Friday, June 26, 2015

A Poet's Message In A Bottle

If you are reading this, I’m not alone.
   Maybe the bottle drifted past your keel.
Maybe you found it shattered on a stone.
   If you are reading this, that means I’m real.
There was a great storm; I was tempest-tossed.
   I woke up here, all bitter and half-drowned.
I live my days accepting that I’m lost,
   And spend my nights dreaming of being found.
This life is like a bone chewed by despair.
   Hope makes you sick, like alcohol that’s cheap.
And yet I shout my name like it’s a flare
   And toss my daily bottle in the deep—
      Not to be rescued, only to be known
      For something greater than my life alone. 


Copyright 2015 Matthew J Wells

Thanks to Dawn Kamerling for the prompt



Molly said...

This is a treasure with many layers; thank you.

Emma Goldman-Sherman said...

I read present tense
and as I read you incarnate further
more real than mere outline
or charcoal shading
more real than a color comic
you are emPOWered
and as I finish reading
you do not fade but remain
the more you became