This well isn’t dry,
I feel it stirring,
There is a sense of fullness in my head.
My thoughts are racing, competing, but none are clear.
They are busy working things out on their own,
Hidden from me in a misty veil
Until one, that special one, breaks through
And brings with it a flood of words.
Not from me but through me from
Behind the veil.
I can’t tell the veil when to lift,
It tells me, and after it has had its way,
Has said what it needed to say,
It slips back behind my eyes, rests and is silent.
And the words sleep and are at peace until
The stirring begins again and the veil is lifted,