I won't be writing to my
forgotten home anymore
there's only one bottle left
and the previous messages
have remained unanswered
my hopes are floating
somewhere out there.
this is my place in life
barefooted, bare skinned
sun, wind and rain drenched
living off of mostly less of
this and that and whatever
the heart beats, the stomach
growls, the joints crack and
this humbled soul is at peace.
the last bottle will stay with
me and I will fill it with poems
and shells and sand and sea
my hair will grow, my beard
will fill out, my body will thin
I will succumb to time in time
and someone will find me with
the last bottle, already at home.
(Image from wallpaperflare.com)
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