This Well

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
In this well...

Submitted: March 26, 2013

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Submitted: March 26, 2013



In this well

The stones are made of ideas

A spire of failed conquest, 

Self-inflicted madness, 

Glorious plunder and pillage,

Genuine inspiration, 

And nullified lights.


In this well,

What you seek is what you deserve

A sea of what you will,

Be it water from the prisine rivers,

Sweet nectar from the hive, 

Salt or sand from the arid plains

Brimstone of the deepest hell,

Or vengeance-spilled blood.


In this well,

There is no escape 

Once you fall into its grasp

You are helpless to resist

The tendrils of its depths ensnare

Your body, mind, and soul,

And you actions are no longer your own. 


In this well

Lies the riches of a thousand empires

Shining on the doorstep 

Of a nigh unbreakable door

Of which the lock is unpickable

In the hands of a lesser man


Everyone sees this well, 

But select few know it is really there

And no amount of explanation

Will reveal its existence 

But only lead to the temptation

Which shall be futile in the wrong hands

For when it is understood what the well is

It is no longer in your capacity to explain. 





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