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The emptying was torture
Like a queen bee on the back porch
Easy to avoid, ignore
No need to go out those french doors
Another route to necessity
Eliminating the need of more

...then  came the scrapping

You showed me the epidermis
Of my well
I was certain my water was sweet
Til I saw it
Shock shook the core of my soul

Then you went deeper
You broke the foundation 
Of my cistern...broken pottery
Strewn on the open ground

The wide open ground
My eyes caught a shadow
A shape of doubt melded 
With elements of matter

Grief, pressurized grief
Made a form
Walking under my well of HOPE
Breathing sorrow upon vision

Whispering...I'm aggrieved

...........does anyone care

Written by Trudy Schrader on 03-28-2024

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