The days go on, the months pass by and I have lived

to my best ability, tried, knocked on each door to find

what more I could give,

to not be jaded, to not grow weary, to always have

that fresh smile, brighten someone’s day, to be a source

of hope when that is what the world needs, I have tried,

tried again and again, even to doors that slam, to those who spit

and shame me, called me deluded, name calling never bothered me … …

did it? For now I wonder if I had simply buried it deep down, in the recesses

of my mind, there is a stranger talking back, of what rubbish I have

given to that well of hope, hope of what? The footsteps I believed

were unwavering because I was on solid grounds have begun

to sink, sink holes, putrid gases and I find my other self with a sneer,

a scowl, a grin that mocks, I am here with you she tells me,

he tells, me, who is this me? And it seems that every thing I

have ever done was simply just trying to convince myself

that the well was eternal.