The Well

Somebody has let her down. It is up to the reader
to figure it out. Everything is in metaphor.




You were to be my well
But there was little to drink
How am I to slake my thirst
When you taunt me like an oasis
You were to be my armor
Yet I still was hurt by our own
How am I to survive
When your shield is translucent
You were to be my walls
But you were made of straw
How am I to reside
When you shelter is temporary
You were to be my farmer
But you eclipsed my sun
How am I to thrive in obscurity
When your fertilizer burns my soul
You were to be my concrete
But you were made of mud
How am I to stand on my own
When it is support which you lack
You were to be my bones
But there was no enrichment within
How am I to walk with vitality
When it is dust you became
You were to be my well
But there is little to drink
I will never be able to slake my thirst
For you will always be an oasis

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