Book Hoard

books on the sofa, my bed, strewn across the kitchen table, and stacked on the window's ledge. Pages turned and marked haphazardly with bookmarks, paper scraps, folded book covers, and even pens. Left open like a half-finished thought- read at varying paces. Just one is never enough. half-read books stored in many places.

The Well

The well ran dry. Where life once overflowed, only a clanging echo remained. Still, the hopeful still came with their pails. They patiently lowered their empty vessels, into the dark below. For they believed that which is empty can be refilled again.