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Lily Priest Jul 17
When we wished
Wells rippled with the
Echo of their insistance
To be real.
When we dreamed
Days were seamless
Endless in their possibilities
Boundless in their magic.
InkHarted May 15
I ran towards the door
not so they could let me inside
I pushed through the crowd
not so i could buy
I thew a coin to the wishing-well
not because it was a transaction
I said nice things to my reflection
not for him to  reply
I ran towards the door
not so they could let me inside
I wanted to feel the option
to be kissed by lips
not the curb of the pavement
I hoped I knelt I prayed
I never asked for a reality
just the right to dream
for a reason to live isn't needed
when i can make a million reasons not to die
I feel empty.
Like a wishing well
Without an echo
A poem every day.
Theia Rhea Jan 2019
Gadiaseite ~ gad-EEE-ah-site ~ NOUN
Definition:
The great abyss of the empty page, a wishing well with churning waters so deep you can't see the bottom—only the shimmer of coins shine through, entwined with the efforts of past attempts—you can recover the wishes but only if you hold your breath and dive into the unknown waters.

Etymology:
Derived from the Latin word Gaida meaning waiting and the German word Seiten meaning pages.
Danielle Jul 2018
As she fell down the wishing well,
A stray thought wormed right in,
“Who am I?
Am I’m Alice? The one with travelled the Looking Glass?
The one who fought the Jabberwocky?
Or perhaps the one who lost her head?
My own head feels a bit lost,
So I must be her, falling down to reality.”
I seem to go through major life events every time they come out with a new Alice and Wonderland movie. Not sure why, but something about those movies then get stuck in my head.
Seazy Inkwell Jun 2017
There is a wishing well where I live,
filled with coins down the bottom,
some are shiny, some old, some rusting into the water.
Circles of copper, silver, aluminum and gold.
Here I will take a bet,
throw my first quarter into the pond,
There it falls with a bubbly thud.
Day by day I will sit by it, murmur a silent prayer,
Doing nothing as the sun set.
So when the dawn comes,
I will get exactly the opposite
of what I wished for,
My coin lost among the thousands,
In this miraculous wishing well.
archwolf-angel Apr 2016
Plop! goes the tiny coin
Sinking into the little well
Side to side it goes before
It reaches the bottom of it

Clasped my hands together
To make a little wish
A smile creeps up my face
As I think of him

Whispers escaped my lips
I wish...
           I wish...
                      I wish...


Gentle wants no more than greed
Holding your hand in need
Of your happiness, health, peace
For your deserving self to breathe

Finest of them all
Gentlest of all lambs
Burdens for you begone
Get the things you have longed for

I wish...
           I wish...
                      I wish...


To the wishing well
Even if it may be a myth
But I always believe
Someone up there will ensure your well-being




*Even when I do not exist
Sanjukta Nag Oct 2015
If I only had one wish to make
I would have wished your eyes to be a Wishing Well,
So that I could drop all my dreams about you into them
And I know you will make me lucky someday.
Matthew Harlovic Nov 2014
I’ve dubbed my wastebasket the wishing well
Well I wish for nothing more than a dime of
creativity to hit me,  ripple across my wrinkles
Knocking some sense in,
sink beneath my pores
So swallow my codswallop wishing well
because this is another petty penny for you.

© Matthew Harlovic
This is something that I salvaged from a while ago. I’m glad, I didn’t throw it out.
Ariella May 2014
deep below the wishing well,
in the tomb of wishful pennies,
live a team of diligent elves,
working day and night.
palms outstretched
they grab each cast away coin as it falls,
clutching them to their grimy chests in hunger.
they box them all up
and melt them down in flat sheets by the dozen
in factory fashion
in precision.
and they build from them tools and weapons;
whatever it is that they need.
their business is balanced on the backs of believers
who pour out their hearts to deaf coins
in scrunched eyes and in whispers
and a flick of their wrists to the darkness below.
perhaps if they knew the fate of their coins,
the industrial dungeon just storeys below
they might have spent their wishes on a shooting star instead,
destined to shatter through space.
Isn't it strange that we wish on things that are going to die?
Like coins thrown into fountains- they're just gonna sink.
And shooting stars- they're going to explode.
Birthday candles are going to be blown out.
So why should  wishes survive?

— The End —