Contents of My Tear

It rolled my cheek and fell, I caught it in the palm of my hand, it sat gentle, fragile, full of memories. Good, bad, indifferent, joyous times, sorrow, angst, war, death and hatred, swirling with no path to follow. I saw blood, suffering, greed and the clock face, never a friend of mine. Love was there humbled by broken promises and bitter sweet words. At the base of the tear were jigsaws, pieces missing, dormant answers never to be found. There were also cloudy areas, they provided the dark places for doubt and mistrust to hide. From the clouds came rain, allowing me to wash my hands of responsibility. Before a cross a man knelt in prayer, his voice drowned in a mass of silence. And in the mistiness of the tear floated joy, fragmented memories, would they, could they be harvested again. So much held by this fragile form, as it spills from careless fingertips, I ask in what form this tear was shed.