The Dark Well

I fought it all day,

Sopping it up, 

Casting it away,

Pushing it down with fingers

That trembled

With the ferocity of this rejection. 

But now, as sleep saturates 

The world around me, 

It wakes, and comes welling.

A viscosity, black and putrid

With the stench 

Of all the fears and doubts

I buried.  Their graves 

Could never be deep enough.

It wakes, and comes welling

Like ink through dry sand. 

They never tell you,

Sometimes, your own darkness

Feeds on light, drinks up 

All you can throw at it.

It howls, a savage and lonely sound,

Redolent of isolation

And self-made prisons. 

Sometimes, the darkness wins. 


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