Empty Well
Empty,
drained.
There are
no words,
to acclaim,
proclaim,
or frame,
any sentence,
or the
reality here.
The beauteous
now barren.
The flourishing
now flat.
We are
bludgeoned
by the banal business
of the functional,
instrumental,
and administrative.
The inspiration has
been.
Gone.
No words appear
upon
the whitened expanse
of the page,
or life.
Empty
the well is
not.
The river has
run
dry.
Simon C.J. Falk 1 June 2017
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Simon's still stanza 