BOTTLE POST OFFICE

Days spent in mindless nonsense, 

a series of waterlogged,

 immortal tears that slowly

 captured the face and its expanding remains! 

Even if we had cheated

 in the immortal moments

 of the Universe, which:

 an ever-virtuous kiss,

 a look, a dreamy flutter

 of eyelashes might have shown,

 we had already buried ourselves:

 our self-pity, our loserism!

 - We are gone, 

like a weak-willed dust, in the wind. 

We could not see the intentions

 of our trapped true emotions,

 for we could not fly,

 and therefore we had long since fallen.

 We had to crumble up the seeds

 of our personality in the coastless time!

 For a long time I envied

 the immortal harmonies

 of hearts in exotic islands by the sea,

 when you were not by my side,

 and the more terrible was the purity,

to wake with a sober mind to the Real:

 to wake the next day without you.

 to pine for the trite mystery 

of decay at so young and tender an age,

 to treat the emotions of others

 as a throwaway rag, 

and to go on living,

 hibernating and utterly resigned to life

 - cowering in the dog's snare of anxiety.

To the conscious pity that moves hearts,

 and perhaps medicine might still be and exist,

 if the sea were to scatter pearls by day,

 and the secrets of sand guard

 the one true secret of the 

footprints destined for the All:

 Love! - and at last, like so many things,

 we send it on its way, bottled up,

 among the captivity of mortal existences!

 - No one can rise permanently above himself, 

unless he finds a mate for

 his flawed opposites!