Ship in a bottle

I am but a small rickety boat

Torn sails, drifting in vast waters

The only forward motion by gusts of the unexpected.

My wooden boards are discolored and bleached.

Crew are not to be seen. A ghostly sight truly.

But then when storms arise I am swallowed whole.

Engulfed in the waves of judgement and worthlessness.

Rains pelting down like insults from whatever god smote me.

Thunder claps like a hard blow to the stomach.

Forcing me to gulp down my pride and weather the storm.

Going no where but constantly moving.

Movement is all I know, like a fish.

I will die without water flowing through me.

Without wind in my battered sails, I am useless.

I know not the taste of surrender.

Nor do I know the sound of the world beyond my bottle.

I am a small ship, but I will withstand.

Your storms of violence will not torment me.

I will rise to see painted skies of pink and gold.

as my small ship sails forever forward.