The well

Head hung low,
Wrist slapped in words,
Sent me slow,
Creeping me forwards.

Entered my disability,
Pail light of sunshine,
Reflected in frailty,
Made to hide sublime.

What is parental guidance?
In obscene science,
Sloppy word dance?
Owns our times.

Who’s the judge?
Where’s the justice,
Who pulled the rug?
Out from amongst us?

We didn’t know,
We didn’t recall,
What stopped the flow?
From the well once and for all…………

Fennigan T 5.23.11