The well is dry,
nothing to yield,
No harvest to reap,
Just fallow ground,
Ready to sleep.
What can this heart
Give when it
Is so empty
So shriveled in contempt.
It was so full
Over brimming with love
And then it just
Died and found no one
To fill it again.
Oh harvest moon
You seem so full
I am a vessel yearning
To be filled and content.
The fullness must come
From within.
Feeling broken
Looking ceaselessly
for whatever it is
In the chasms inside
That can refill the soul
While "I" hide.
