Never Listen To Talking Bottles

Written for:  The Sunday Muse #25


I wanted to be
an autumn tree, for
what could be lovelier?
Drink me, the bottle
said, and you will forever
be an Autumn tree.

Now, lost on edge of vibant
I cannot remember
to get home. Alone here
with Autumn’s glory
surrounding me, I see
that I have no trunk; I am 
not a tree, and my hair
is bloody red. Oh,
I hope I awaken soon
if indeed this is a dream.

About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
This entry was posted in Purple's Home and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Never Listen To Talking Bottles

  1. Vicki says:

    There’s not much lovelier than an Autumn tree. Love your poem, Sara.


  2. Just Barry says:

    The bottle tricked you! Alas, it has also tricked me too from time to time. Lovely poem.


  3. Carrie V. H. says:

    Bottles have talked to me a time or two. Love this Sara!


Comments are closed.