A broken well
that I was really fond of
sharing.

Worn, moldy wood.
And an old bucket
that had so many trips
to get the tastiest water
for the thirstiest people.

Beautiful.

But over the years
the water started lying down
The mold took over
and bricks started
falling in it.

I pondered for days.

What else was there to share?
How could I reïnvigorate
the worn out travelers?
Who was I
without my well
that others could tap from?

I'm defeated.

A broken well.

And here you come,
YOU,
Drinking from my well
but choosing an other.
But missing mine
so dearly
it hurts you.

It hurts me.
And what is a well,
that doesn't carry
the desire to be pure?
To be clean?
To be drank from?
By you. An exhausted traveler?

My rejection
is met with
your desire
for my water
once more

But tell me!
What is a well
but there for the thirsty?
What can a well do
but indescriminately give?

A broken well
that drowns
in it's own water

My apologies
the water might taste
a little bit salty.
But feel free.
That's who I am.

A broken well.