Poetry · Writing

bottom of the barrel

the bottom wasn’t the bottom

it never existed

it was just home,

the golden fish would tell stories

of a land bathed in light

kissed by soft air-

we huddled around her stories

of fulfilment and life,

we prayed to poseidon

to bring us;

bring us to the land of the free,

where goldy stayed-

away from the bottom.

the next day she was gone,

the we shuffled to an i

in silence.

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