Left alone on a table sat a solitary bowl
Empty and polished to a radiant shine
What could it be filled with, do you wonder?
Good things, bad things, or things that belong in neither
It must be filled, I have this longing to fulfill
So fill it with jewels, so bright and vivid that dance with mysteries
Fill it with letters of love and care from friends afar
Fill it with a sweater that was knit by old hands
Fill it with a thrill of danger that escapes your lips
Fill with thoughts of intentions unknown to you
Fill it with emotions never brought to the surface
Fill it with memories that are faded and new
Fill it, fill it.
Why is it not full?
These things cannot make it overflow.
Why? Why?
Why am I not satisfied with these?
Are they not good? They are not right?
Some are not, but why?
Nothing seems to fill this bowl I hold
Still empty and waiting for water that never stops giving life.
An Open Window 