Returning Down The Well


The sun shines bright, high in the afternoon sky.

You run and roll,

Fumble and tumble with playground friends, as all children typically should,

On dirt, on grass, on roads now paved, what fun is to be had that knows no end.

A perched sparrow chirps his evening song to call for his fragile young, and supper is steaming, ready for your care.

Yet as dusk grows near, the moon is cast, and you make your trek through the thickest of brush,

Returning down the well to provide a portion of your meal to me, a creature of the night.

Again you insist that you stay to help, aid in my time of unrest amongst the shadows that lurk.

And I can only protest that these chains, these shackles, they cannot be broken.

It's an injury that goes on unseen, a bitter punishment cast only from demons damned in the past.

There's such a pace up there, fields of a frantic collective I'm afraid that's sure to trample.

I can only remain here, shivering in my chamber below; the surface above is a state beyond one bound and so meager.

But you, you are loved.

Your communion of family is awaiting your safe return.

And a heart so genuine as yours deserves the purest air to breathe freely without objection.


You turn and climb your lowered rope, your extended faith upward, as I watch and only hope that you would,

Maybe return tomorrow, once again.

Down here, where you found me,

As I look upward at those pretty stars, shining bright, high in the night-sky...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A tale all too metaphorically true, and I make an effort to thank all those lend a helping hand (with one person in particular)...

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poetvg's picture

i like this poem .

gentle's picture

Deeply moving lines, filled with such great sadness & pain - a heart that yearns for light, life & the fredom to be normal.

But, why is this so difficult to remove the shackles & be one with the world? Only the one in the well can answer this question.

Tell this the fate of the outcast...

Very well done, extremely moving.


Gentle is the night♥

hhickson's picture

Excellent. Keep it up. The greatest works in the world were born out of pain. This poem says to me you have enough to keep you writing for years, which for us your readers is great... unfortunately for you maybe not so great.