Man in a Well

A man stands, trapped, inside a well, and thinks,
“I wish I wasn't here,” but understands he can't
Escape. He gave up trying long ago, and goes
About his business now, content when he can give
All thought to what he's doing, not his fate. He
Knows of others trapped in wells, whose fingers
Bleed, whose hearts are bitter, from their efforts
To get free. “That's an awful way to live,”
He thinks. “It's better just to come to terms
With what one has, and what one never will
Obtain.” In his darkness, this man doesn't
Smile. He cannot be happy, given what he has
To face, but he's calm. He's learned acceptance.
At odd hours, on good days, my fingers heal.
My heart turns sweet, and I become that man.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 199 times
Written on 2019-04-08 at 15:53

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Coo & Co The PoetBay support member heart!
We think this is one of our favourite poems from you, Larry. It feels complete to us, from the claustrophobic setting to the well-man's thinking as he comes to terms with things. The bleeding of the fingers is particularly memorable, as is their healing :>)