The Child at the Bottom of the Well
- GODSAVEME
- Mar 31
- 1 min read
Poem no. 21, 31st March 2025
The child drifted in the silence
The threshold had spoken
King Solomon would soon divide the tarot
And she would be found, be blessed, be crowned
The well would fade from her memory
So be it, she whispered
Yes, so be it…
Eyes turned toward her soul, Story anchored in her flesh
She was neither illusion nor sacrifice
There, at the bottom of the well where destinies unravel
That same well that would no longer fade from her mind
From her brow, she carved out songs for the dawn
And though steeped in sesame's dark ink,
The child finally understood
So be it…
Yes, so be it…
For the well of unknowing had begun to dissolve
That well where ashes no longer bewitched her
But where the Moon-Mother now baptised her each night
For even in the depth of that sordid blend,
The child of the King had morphed into her angel wings
And through the water, she braided the story of the other
And her palm remembered
A time when she was healing
So be it, she repeated
Yes, so be it…
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