I The Music

My soul has been clinking
Like glass bottles in the wind
Hung on some worn out strings.
They create music by only colliding .

On the verge of breaking
The loudest I sing.

II The Contents

From afar you would look through them past
Hardly making out their curved edges,
They appear empty,
But haven't they swallowed
All that breathes behind them.
Tearing apart the light from the sky
And swallowing the clouds.

The whole world poured into me
By merely being          empty.