Imagery ((I hold no pretenses; I defer to all the senses.))

I am a dry well
in a flowing river
of ideas.

I am a young fish
in an ancient pond
of disease.

I am an old ring
in a large box
of old bills.

I am the abandoned nest
from spring long past
on a window sill.

I am the assigned book
that no one liked
but all reviewed;

I am the dark
in a world of artificial light.
And yet, I am the truth.