No Words in the Well

The rainy darkness brings

no comfort,

and the late hour

no sleep.


The mind shambles

past the murky thoughts


in the stagnant water.


Its robe, sodden and heavy,

clings as it lifts the

dimming lantern

of moonlight’s end.


The squeaking creak of a crank

breaks the silence

as the worn bucket descends.


A small splash speaks to

the shallowness of the water.

The mind shuts its eyes,

somewhere between frustration and relief.


Nothing fills the bucket.


There are no words left

in the well.


The day’s writing is done.

The mind shuffles back

to its darkness,

closing the door

on the rainy night,


and sleeps at last.



Author: smithaw50

I live in NJ. Concentrating now on a getting a full time writing career started. Glad you could be with me on the journey. Ready? Here we go...

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