Carrier Bag In The Wind Poem by Dan Brown

I am trapped in the bramble bush,
ripped open by savage thorns,
exposing my dirty innards.
I flap hauntingly in the evening breeze,
singing my own sorrowful song.
I spend a cold night staining the hedgerow,
alone except for it’s inquisitive inhabitants,
and have a front row seat, with a panoramic view, for
the spectacular sunrise that morning. The light
and warmth brings little comfort to me as I lay wounded,
praying God will send a gust strong enough
to disentangle me from my barbarian captor.
My spirits are lifted when I am pulled clear by
a forceful breeze, and carried along as a passenger
on it’s extensive travels. My pain drifts away as I
float with gaiety over fields, rivers and towns.
I am tossed, turned, twirled and teased by the Hands of
many different winds, but I care not,
for it is better than being alone.
Many miles pass before I am lowered once more,
coming to rest on a streetlight.
The rain follows my descent and drenches me so,
that now I sag, limply, from the great height.
I hang from that precarious position for days,
unwittingly graffiti-ing what looks to be a rather posh street.
My friend the Sun soon dries me through, though, and I
eagerly await my imminent lift.
It arrives elegantly and plucks me into its grasp,
and the familiar feelings of safety and belonging return
as we glide together in the deep blue sky.
My time is coming; another deposit, this time on a gate.
I wonder, this time, how long I’ll wait.
It’s no life, really, where you wish all day for it to end.
And knowing there is only two ways it can.
I hoped, for a long time, I would head for the sea,
where I could settle and sink anonymously.
The more time that passed, though,
the less I believed it would happen.
Instead, I wished for the end to come quicker;
to be spotted and rescued by a litter picker.
Until then, however, I must continue my sentry duty,
as the countryside’s patriotic flag.
If you should see me, billowing proudly,
just remember, I am but a lonely carrier bag.