Bottling

If I cork my pain and rage into a bottle
And throw it into the ocean
Who will pick it up?

Some poor soul walking the beach
Enjoying the day finds my bottle
And unleashes a scream that shatters the peace.

No. I will hang my pain and rage
On the washing line, let the rain
Wash it clean and the sun
Dry it up and shrivel it to nothing.

That’s the way to deal with pain and rage,
Hang it out there so the elements
Can play with it.

Instead I should bottle my sunshine,
There’s enough to spare; the laughter of a child,
One of my boys’ big bear hugs, a daughter’s kiss,
A few miles’ journey on the Silk Road,
A hour or two crafting, a shared joke,
And throw that to the tide.

Maybe it will be found by someone
Who needs it.