A ship in a bottle is a curio, a fun thing
On a mantlepiece high and dry.
Put some sea in a bottle
And I would live there
No cork would stop me,
No land to lock
Flying grey salt crashes wet
Wind whistles around gorse, whips up
White dance unorchestrated
While bass lines roll firm through feet from peaks gazing over the bay.
Trap me in a bottle where sea mists up valleys to cloud-etched tor,
as much as in a glass I may bear,
where tears merge with sea air.
But do not lock me free by flat land,
for from my walled heart's well would burst a note to shatter glass and
send the sea crashing out to flood, to bury what I keen.
Ephesians 6:23–24: Can Our Love Be Corrupted?
7 hours ago