A sea of blue under a cloudless sky
Waves galloping round my thin glass neck
A round empty eye, with flimsy stopper
Made of naught but cork.

Tossed about by the stormy sea
Driven by the whip of the wailing wind
I think of the single slip of paper
Enclosed by my fragile arms.

Uncertainty permeates my thoughts
The message inside me begs to be heard
In the midst of nature’s wrath, the shore
Still seems so very far away.

But, lo! There on the horizon
Illuminated by the rising sun they appear
Sandy beaches where saviors wait
My last, desperate hope.

Washed up on the shore by noon’s light
A cry, a splash, a hand grasps my neck
The cork falls to the waves, and the paper
Is drawn with bated breath.

Fear and panic wash away with the tide
As I am dropped back into the sea
Long fingers unfold the yellowed page
At last, my voice will be heard!

The face of my deliverer is bright
It goes from excited to confused
Then, he shrugs and turns away, and the paper
Floats down to the waves.

I see the soiled page on which no words
Could ever be deciphered
My hopes fall like bricks, scattered
And blown away by a hurricane of misunderstanding.