Friday, August 12, 2011
The plastic bag.
Gently, I go where the wind brings me, for he is my master and I am his slave. He often has moodswings, but I like them.
They make my life meaningful. Interesting. Less monotonous.
And when I reminisce over moments when I was useful, I float in the air. I was useful.
Till I got used.
Tore a hole right through me.
And now, painful silence as I watch my life pass me by. I carried your burden when you couldn't. Now, you've found another.
Discarded.
But the wind, oh the mighty wind, takes me places the others would never see. Though I am wounded, I enjoy. I don't want to start again. Nor do I want this to end. All I want, is for moments like this to last.
But they never do, do they? One day, Master will get bored of me. I will end up being recycled.
Like I never existed. But who would be concerned?
For I am nothing. But a mere plastic bag.
With Love,
