The Spring

I always had a tap on it,
So I could fill my bottles and flasks,
And the spring was always in control,
Till it was clogged one day;
Someone must have put another tap
Somewhere I didn't know.
So I ran around thirsty and dry,
Quenching my thirst in brothels and bars,
Till you found the tap and turned it on.
Years of passion welled up from inside
And before either of us could react,
You were swept away, and I was lost;
The flood wrecked all that we had;
And when the storm subsided to a ripple,
The spring had turned to autumn, bare
But for a hollow murmur now and then -
Maybe that's just some bees inside.
And now I have casks and kegs, strung
Around my neck, weighing me down
Big bottles of emptiness, and
Though poetry still flows on seamlessly,
Love comes trickling down,
For that's all that's left in this spring,
Till it finds another source some day.
And I hold on to my empty flask
As the ages whistle by like the wind
Hoping it will be full somehow,
Just enough for this lifetime.
And I know that it might take a while,
And I may never be whole again, but
I still sit by, waiting for that moment
When I can write that perfect rhyme.