A Drinking Well

I've never been a daughter;
that gift was not intended
for a homeless heart.

I am a stranger to my father
as he is to himself.

This hole,filled with helpless
violence, a drinking well packed
with quarry stones;

what was I when I was born
and who must love me? When
will I be free to love?

Here I am, a solitary tree,
a barren field, a dying bird
forgotten by the unseen forces

that brought me here to live.

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