“Well of Echoes”

I come with empty cup to ancient stone,

Where waters whisper names of things undone.

A tremor in each murmur—half-heard tone—

Invites the soul to taste what must be won.

My lips brush glassy depths, then pull away,

For shallow draughts stir only fevered pride.

Too quick to sip, I glimpse a fractured day,

And marvel how illusion turns inside.

From shadowed boughs a raven threads the mist,

Its inky wing inscribes a sigil’s form.

A fractured star mid echoes, half-dismissed,

Awakens what this darkness would transform.

Beneath Yggdrasil’s root I hear the call

Of Mimir’s wisdom, older than my breath.

An eye for truth demands a sacrifice,

A barter spun from marrow unto death.

So I retreat, cup emptied of regret,

Bearing each question like a whispered bone.

Between the spring and well, my path is set—

To drink again when I have earned my own.

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