Those who will not
slip beneath the still surface
of the well of grief
turning downwards
through its black waters
to the place
we cannot breathe
will never know the source
from which we drink
the secret water
cold and clear
nor find in the darkness
glimmering
the small round coins
thrown by those who wished
for something else.
*david whyte is the author, i have it memorized so i've probably fkd up the line layout, regardless, its my mantra when i've lost sight of the surface from the deep underneath.
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