The ghost of the well speaks
in echoed song, Whispering,
of her final descent, sobbing
all the way down. A fall? No.
She was pushed by loves own
hands. Her heart was crushed,
as she felt the brushing slimy
stonework rush slickly past.
A trickle as her head, so brittle
hit the concrete at the foot
of this cavern so deep. it's
dimensions so little, A trickle
as the blood slowly leaks out
A final view of the moon, as it
seeps into eyes that seek answers,
where answers will never be seen.
Thanks for reading
Every click, every book purchase,
every like helps me to keep doing what I love.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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