I woke up to see ‘side my bed,
The open windows and the barren sky,
When the Sun’s sunshine suddenly led
To my half-stained bottle standing nigh.
Its translucence tantalised me,
As I stared at it with my squinted eyes,
The tempered plastic obscured the tree
That had long been forlorn by the skies.
Sure, I could go all Edgar Allan Poe
About my white half-filled plastic bottle -
But my haunting, daunting, and wonting’d show
Nought but a pinch of dark, ravenous throttle.
As I wake up at the crossroads of Gone and To Be,
I wonder, wandering wantonly, wobbling freely,
And a glimmer of fake glass grants me a gait of glee -
As I become cognoscente, once again, of all of reality.
The flabbergasting, floral form of free vines winding
Around the semi-filled, semi-vacant albus water container
Reminds me of tendrils of plasma that have been binding
The cells, the body, the galaxies and the universe - forever.