I could say nothing at all, and turn it
On myself, or I can speak my heart and
Hurt someone else
It is so difficult to make the choice
To hurt or inflict, the conflict results
Always, in some manner of pain

I have been silent for over a decade
A decade, of blockades, the fallout shelter
Has not protected me, only made me
Live in a tomb, with thick walls, no windows
Hallow points on the wrong side, on my side
I made my choice, and my safety is really
Outside the bunker

I remember trying to irrigate a field
I dug a ditch in the direction I thought the water
Would flow, but
The water always went the other way
I studied and studied the dry earth, and watched
Thin trickles wiggle their way in a direction not
Expected, and I worked so hard

I work so hard at irrigation
I try to grow what is good and weed out the bad
But, I am not a farmer, I never learned how to
Work the fields, my water was always the rain
And it rained, unexpectedly

I am sorry if I hurt others and I am sorry
I hurt myself, but, as I cannot predict the flow
Of the water, I cannot predict what will be my
Future, can only hope what I love is with me
To make life flow, where draught has made me
Empty

Fallout shelter? Tomb? Thick walls? Bunker?

I thought these words represented some very nice emotional imagery, but the sustained metaphor of failed irrigation is truly masterful.

Again, I wish I had written that! Really cool thought merged with really cool expression and form...that is poetry!

G.