Down in My Well of Sorrows


I must admit, I may not have
intentionally slipped down here
into the well of sorrows,
but here I lay.
It’s a deep one. So deep that,
even though I’ve stuffed
all my bads and sads into it
over all my days,
it’s never overflowed and
little light reaches us
all the way down here.
Or so I thought.

But that’s what I get for leaning
so far over the side to examine
all these almost-forgotten pieces
of Who, What, When and Where.
That little voice drew me
closer. Not plaintive,
strangely declarative, familiar,
with each call, the voice lit
a tiny spark of an almost seen.

I thought I could reach it
and when I did, I fell, or
maybe jumped.
And now I’m down here
among my dead and dying,
my truths and lying,
all because I wanted to grasp
that flash of Why…Why…Why.
I wish someone’d throw me
a helping How.

2 thoughts on “Down in My Well of Sorrows

  1. Damn, if we want to write about life, we have to first look at our own. Sorry for the tumble and hope you have found the way out for a breath of ‘here and now’ before reaching again. I am cleaning out my e-mail account, by deleting but also reading those bloggers I most enjoy. Thus the trip back in time.

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