New Art ... New Poetry

The Empty Glass by C’wick Yates

The glass sits on the table ...
empty except for a small still tear
that fell away from my eye and made its home
at the bottom of the hollow shell that once was a full glass of great joy.
The world was thirsty and selfish,
only interested in quenching its own desires ...
I smiled and allowed its thirst to be quenched at my expense,
and to show it how much I loved it,
I gave it me ... my tear ... my love …
as an example of how to fill the glass back up
so another may quench their thirst as well.
The glass still remains empty,
but my tear is there ... still there ... my essence of hope.


9-9-09