The Well

A.W. Nutter Able to see a round circle of light The sun slowly ascending into the sky Futile, spilling tears over my plight As I struggle to survive I wonder why As each morning comes I sign the cross Clinging to hope with religious gestures The sides of my tomb, slick with moss Hands bloodied from repeated failures Weakened from being in this hole so long Chance of survival more illusion than reality Leaving me to die in this well was wrong Persecuted unjustly, for a wife's infidelity Placing my back against the stone wall Preparing myself for one final climb Inch by agonizing inch I slowly crawl Struggling to find handholds in the slime Trying in vain to control my excitement As I roll over the edge onto firm ground Finally free of my watery confinement When the Sheriff returns I won't be found Slowly gaining enough strength to stand Frozen in place at what my eye's now see The husbands cruelty I'll never understand Hanging his wife by her neck from a tree Suddenly a rope tightens around my chest Sheriff, ensures my hands are tightly laced Screaming, I journey toward eternal rest As into the well I am once again placed