Stagnant

Like rainwater sitting out for days,

Attracting flies,

Like moths to a flame.

Serving no meaningful purpose,

So we remain

Unfulfilled—

Nothing’s changed.

Entrapped

In a recurring cycle,

Appearing to be renewed

As more rainwater starts to fall.

 

But new drops only meet the surface,

Clean merging with the murk below,

Clear streams swallowed by the stagnant depths,

Adding freshness without flow.

 

We’re fooled by ripples on the top—

False signs of change, a fleeting spell.

No matter how much pure rain falls,

It’s still just water in a dirty well.