Wanda Daugherty Poet Prose Poetry

Weary Tears

Weary Tears

So the tears fall, softly, gently;
Like the forgotten leaves of summer.
Tears, little drops of salty water.
Silent, sweeping ever onward down the cheeks.

Then sits down the weary body 
On the soft reclining sofa,
Giving way to weary tears.
Silent, empty in the stillness,

Silent as a winter snowfall;
When the soul is past the speaking,
Past the screaming and lamenting.
Then come the weary tears.

Alone you reach out in the darkness,
For the hand that’s reaching for you.
Comes the balm of God’s sweet Spirit.
In spite of weary tears.

We are not alone in Battle;
But our Crown’s not won in comfort.
Dust your sword and stand up valiant.
In spite of weary tears.

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