Wishing well

 

Been walking around with a broken heart

for some time, now the ticking in his chest

has slowed and the bells are starting to chime.

staring out at the wilderness.

seeing only bleak mists staring back at him.

A shroud of despair descends

through the stormy skies.

Alone in the middle grounds he stands,

Frozen. Awaiting a lightning strike.

 

It’s like a flatlining of hope, where once

its peaks rose and fell, now they just follow

the line of least resistance, of emptiness,

numb to the currents jolting through existence.

summoned to see the fading view.

And all he sees is nothing.

Just the shrill ringing sounds,

and a bleakness creeping in,

like the angels of hell, screeching and wailing

in the throes of anarchy.

 

All he can do is throw his broken heart

in a wishing well in some last remaining

shred of hope to bring an end to the agony.

So, he casts it down.

 

The old brick well stands alone

in the wilderness.

A solitary teardrop of rain

swells from the heavens

and falls.

Inching

ever

closer

to

its

destination.

 

Splash.

 

A dull, rhythmic thud.

Duh, duh. Duh, duh.

Duh, duh. Duh, duh.

Echoes slowly rising through the mist.

A scream released. A primal yell.

A plea to the stars to hear this pain,

a plea to the moon, light the path again.

 

As another teardrop of rain falls

and hits the man, bent double on his knees,

he hears the dull thud in his chest

Start to quicken. He stands.

Opens eyes to blinding sunrays

and walks head held high.

For the first time in immeasurable days