The Glass With a Hole
I poured, and poured, and poured, and poured, It was never enough. The glass had a hole—its depth so deep I never saw it first. Joy, sorrow, laughter, one by one, I filled it to the brim; The price I paid, the reward left after, Was only life’s skim. I run, I turn, I stumble, fall, I try, I fail, Now left to rot. The glass stands still, its presence frail, The hole now just a dot. Once filled with tears of joy, as well, They never learned to last. The time I paid, the mirth I held, It went by far too fast. I trained, I landed, never feigned, I fended, honest, I tried to walk. The dunes reshaped themselves with every wind, untended, They never talk. The beanstalk climbed too far—the view went dim, Clouds hazed beneath. The life we lived, a year of undiluted surrender, Learned how to bare its teeth. I lived, I died, I laughed, I cried, a castle built of memory, I tread light—the lake. After countless moons, love arrived like silk, Silent in its wake. I thought I saw your face again; i...
