The Empty Well

i came with a cup,

not because it was broken,

but because i was thirsty.

you had the water,

but never drew it.

i poured,

you received,

yet you never returned.

silence became louder

than any word.

your comets came,

bright,

but too rare to warm the night.

so, i step back,

not in anger,

but in peace.

for even a garden

must tend another field.

i will not knock again.

if one day

my absence roars louder than presence,

you’ll know where to find me;

where cups are full,

and the pouring is mutual.

wabwire elias