The rainy darkness brings
no comfort,
and the late hour
no sleep.
The mind shambles
past the murky thoughts
submerged
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.
Beyond Panic 