The well - a poem
The well has run dry
There are no songs
no poetry
and no art
waiting
in the depths
of the well.
It's dry
and empty
now
and no longer
like it used to be.
There's no faith
no hope
or love
to be seen
in the dark depths
of the well
sheer emptiness
is echoing
between its walls.
Will the dry desert
ever be watered
again?
Is there
any water
to pour
in this
deserted
well?
Will
anyone
bring
it
here?
The silent poet is asking.
Charlotte Thérèse, © 2009. All rights reserved.
There are no songs
no poetry
and no art
waiting
in the depths
of the well.
It's dry
and empty
now
and no longer
like it used to be.
There's no faith
no hope
or love
to be seen
in the dark depths
of the well
sheer emptiness
is echoing
between its walls.
Will the dry desert
ever be watered
again?
Is there
any water
to pour
in this
deserted
well?
Will
anyone
bring
it
here?
The silent poet is asking.
Charlotte Thérèse, © 2009. All rights reserved.
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2 kommentarer:
my dear one
water from
your old well
can never
get dry.
His love
vill never
die.
so please
my freind
go back
to the old one.
That reel well
there you drink
the living springwater
and all love
vill be done
for you
and your loved ones.
So please come back
This posting seems to have opened up the poetical wells in others...
A dear friend sent me this beautiful poetical response in a mail. I let her be anonymous in case she wishes - she may comment here if she wants to be known as the author:
"A Response:
A Well is a Well for it feeds upon underground waters.
A Well is a Well for it is deep inside the womb of God and awaiting the succulent rain.
A Well is a Well for it receives; ofttimes awaits through its own desert-time.
A Well is a Well for it brings forth its fluid, so sweet,
when the drought ends us and makes us verdant again."
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