There is well that is deep and dark and full of things.
Things that are slippery, elusive, and just out of sight at the corner of my eye.
Once in a while they bubble up to the surface and spill everywhere.
As far as I can see, feel and touch their presence drips over each part of my life.
Then they quickly dry up with the heat and wear of life and retreat to where they came.
I wish that well would not hide from me when I seek it out.
I would be better prepared if I knew when it was going to rain down and out of me.
It catches me off guard.
It sneaks around to other entrances.
It always leads to tears overflowing from my eyes as if the flood of water were coming from inside of me.
Maybe that well does come from within me.
There it has such a convenient place to hide, until the dam breaks and its waters rush over my silenced voice and spill out of my soul.
Wishing well you are not.
There are no shiny coins at the bottom,
for there is no bottom to this weeping well to rest upon.
It's depth is endless and hidden away in the dark.
T.L. Eastman 2010