They warned me not to peer too deep,
Where ancient sorrows rise to weep.
A circle carved by hands long dead,
A hollow mouth, where longing’s led.

I leaned upon its crumbling rim,
The waters murmured a forgotten hymn.
No ripple stirred, no lantern shone,
As if its emptiness was my own.

The bucket creaked, the rope gave sigh,
Like marrow drawn from bones long dry.
It rose, and yet it came up bare—
A goblet raised to poisoned air.

The villagers had long since fled,
Their thirst chased hope’s fading ghost instead.
Yet every night, the silence swelled,
A dark well hoards what prayers once held.

I dropped a coin, I dropped a plea,
It claimed them both with silent glee.
The echo chimed with spiteful cheer;
Each wish collapsed to dust and fear.

I peered down, staring into the black,
To see the things I never could take back.
The final truth struck deep with chilling cost:
The well was me, and all that I’ve lost.