an empty plastic bag
danced in the wind
Fouetté, Grand Jeté, Plié
took a bow
blown away
hung on the tip of a mast
sailed towards sunset horizon
with a distended belly
rolled away
whiplashed by ocean waves
deflated under the
anaemic moon
drifted off
Flicker of Thoughts 
Then don’t be an empty bag
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the irony is we are all empty bags, we came with a lifeless frame and go as an empty shell..almost
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But then we are not living like an empty bag, we come here to live with full liveliness, evolve ourselves our thoughts,, take pleasure of world’s beauty , and give back our purpose to this world to make it better and then leave empty by giving back all this world gave us , that’s the life,, if we have to be empty always then better to be a stone lying on some woods untouched, unseen etc,,,
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I agree. So the empty bag was once a ballerina, on top of the sail, and sank to the bottom. Life has bipolar ups and downs sometimes. 😊
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But empty bag is now again ready to get filled up 😉😊🙏
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You turn things like bags into reflective moments with poetry like this. Such meaning in things I wouldn’t observe.
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Should I take that as a compliment?
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But of course!
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