Metaphor Poem

Somebody has let her down. It is up to the reader to figure it out. Everything is in metaphor.

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The Well

©

Published: February 2006

You were to be my well
But there was little to drink
How am I to slake my thirst
When you taunt me like an oasis

You were to be my armor
Yet I still was hurt by our own
How am I to survive
When your shield is translucent

You were to be my walls
But you were made of straw
How am I to reside
When you shelter is temporary

You were to be my farmer
But you eclipsed my sun
How am I to thrive in obscurity
When your fertilizer burns my soul

You were to be my concrete
But you were made of mud
How am I to stand on my own
When it is support which you lack

You were to be my bones
But there was no enrichment within
How am I to walk with vitality
When it is dust you became

You were to be my well
But there is little to drink
I will never be able to slake my thirst
For you will always be an oasis

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