He Would Not Drink From The Well

He would not drink from the well
on which moonlight shone,
illuminating the rippling surface
where the bones of his fathers swam,
unbodied remnants of ancestry.

He would not drink from the well,
though thirst had brought him to this place,
carried on the back of the pale horse,
who dipped his muzzle deep into the offering.

He would not drink from the well,
had already tasted its bitter waters,
its poison spreading through family flesh.
They, too, floated below, their futures drowned.

The corpse horse looked on,
as he slipped into the arms of waiting ghosts,
quenching centuries of thirst
and the well drank of him