| Near the wishing well, our hands entwined;
Where stand we to see the direction of our lives.
Frustrated and angry with all that we have tried;
I’m tired and dying, hoping to be revived.
A copper coin from me to you, to give to the well
To pay its due.
My hopes I toss in too,
Oh please! Please, make these dreams come true!
Beneath the calm and glassy pool, an army of hopes and dreams lies still;
Lulled to sleep in waters cool, entrapped within a frigid chill.
Cast in ages past and long ago by others in righteous act;
By lovers and dreamers or so, like brothers of a secret pact.
With bated breath and fragile heart, I’m anxious for your toss.
Each moment casts a fiery dart, and this wait becomes a cross.
I wonder if your wish will be as mine.
Will our hearts merge to form a single line?
Or, and I dread the thought,
Will you commit a crime?
Will your soul be bought; will your cast be far from mine?
Of your choice I have no assurance.
Of mine, I’ve known forever.
I have loved you without insurance, and I will love you ever.
And as that golden hope floats from fragile fingers,
Toward the awaiting ocean of whispered prayers,
I know that in its sweeping, graceful arch there lingers
Abounding joy eternal, or torturous, painful cares.
Here near the wishing well, our hands entwined;
Where stand we to see the direction of our lives. | |
