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.
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