The most important question in the world is, 'Why is the child crying'
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I've also always been fascinated by weddings... those surreal performances where the audience plays an integral part -- the joy, the sadness, the passion... all unfolding firstly in a house where God is served and ultimately in a house where beer is served... the knife inserted ritually into the virginal white cake to reveal the dark fruity interior... that ugly pagan concept of the father handing over his daughter to her new master... the mothers crying because they're losing a daughter, the page boys crying because they have to wear such stupid clothes... those embarrassing speeches and drunken uncles on the dance floor...
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Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.
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The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.
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As words go crying after themselves, leaving the dream Upended in a puddle somewhere As though "dead" were just another adjective.
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Scared, Cold, in pain, the dust hasn't settled yet. Pinned in, crying, my clothes are ripped, red, and wet. Lights, noise, and confusion, all part of the night. I'm going to die alone, give up the fight. Red lights are flashing, mixing with blue. A face appears at my window, the face is you. You're gonna be all right is the first thing you say. A reassuring voice, someone wants me to stay. You could have been home with family, they need you too. You worked all day at the job, your sleeping hours numbered two. But you went down the hall, hoping your family is OK. Now you're here with me and Death, with comforting words to say. No time for yourself, no thought for your safety. Later you may think, your decision was hasty. Get the Jaws. Watch that gas; Keep the people away. Get his vitals, hose this down. Some things I hear them say. You stand in gas, look in my window, show no fear. I look back at you knowing, your voice is the last I'll ever hear. I fade away as you hold me, while holding back your tears. Thank you for being there, You Brave Volunteers.
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I cannot bear it! said the pewter soldier. I have shed pewter tears! It is too melancholy! Rather let me go to the wars and lose arms and legs! It would at least be a change. I cannot bear it longer! Now, I know what it is to have a visit from one's old thoughts, with what they may bring with them! I have had a visit from mine, and you may be sure it is no pleasant thing in the end; I was at last about to jump down from the drawers.
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Seasons Of Change All it did was rain, but it drowned out my Heart and all it's sorrow, so I'm thankful So deeply indebt and glad, that I'll never See the light of tomorrow. All it did was snow, the bitter cold, and Stiffness, effected me in ways you'll surely Never know. Cause you're better off than I am The wind was unsatiable, and unconquerable so malacious, so unforgiving, so completely Miserable, it reminded me of you. It was so hot and tepid, so incredibly unbearing I thought that I would give up my Long and relently journey for a place without You. But I was wrong, again, as always. Because in the heat of that night, you came To me, with sweat pouring and cries crying. The weather and seasons remind me of you, and Your prolific attempt to bring my spirits down. Kade William Davies Copyright ©2004 Kade William Davies
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Tobey can cry just like that. Whenever I have a crying scene, I have to listen to sad music, put my headphones on and kind of zone out.
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Only to have a grief equal to all these tears!
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Tears are the summer showers to the soul.
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We all start out with the same alphabet. We are all unique. Talent is not the most important thing --- discipline and dedication are. Craft can be learned but desire and longing are innate. Despite the demands of school and just being young, try to write SOMETHING every day --- a description, a captured emotion, a simile, a metaphor. Read, for crying out loud! A writer must read the way a ball player must go to the ballfield every day to practice. Everything is possible in this world of ours--- and so's publication.
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It’s cold in the room, Mommy. It’s cold and all I have to wear is a yucky-green smock that matches the yucky-green walls. All the walls are cold, the metal table is cold, and the doctor’s fingers are cold as they hold my hand and tell me not to worry. But I’m worried, mommy. The doctors say that I might not wake up…they’re saying that I have a ninety percent chance of dieing, and I’m scared: I don’t want to go away, mommy; I don’t want to leave you behind. There’s a big clock on the wall, and it says it’s 3:15 in the afternoon. Ms. Loughlin just let class out for the day…Billy and Jeff are probably wrestling just outside the classroom, waiting for their daddies to pick them up so they can go home and eat dinner and do their homework and sleep. I wish I was there, mommy…I wish I was anywhere but here. I’m crying, mommy. I promised you I wouldn’t, but I’m crying and I can’t stop. The doctors are going to give me the medicine now to make me sleep so I don’t feel anything, so you won’t have to worry about me hurting anymore. But mommy, they said they had to take Teddy from me…they had to give him to you…mommy, please, hold him, hold him, and promise me, mommy, promise me if I don’t wake up you’ll keep him for me: he’s going to miss me a lot, and he’ll need someone to hug. And mommy… Goodbye, mommy.
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As words go crying after themselves, leaving the dream Upended in a puddle somewhere As though 'dead' were just another adjective.
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We are born crying, live complaining, and die disappointed.
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Geez, if I could get through to you, kiddo, that depression is not sobbing and crying and giving vent, it is plain and simple reduction of feeling. Reduction, see? Of all feeling. People who keep stiff upper lips find that it's damn hard to smile.
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The painter stood entranced before the work which he had wrought;... he grew tremulous and ... crying with a loud voice, 'This is indeed Life ...
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Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labor to overcome the cloud that loads em.
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The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears.
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Like the wind crying endlessly through the universe, Time carries away the names and the deeds of conquerors and commoners alike. And all that we are, all that remains, is in the memories of those who cared we came this way for a brief moment.
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As you stopped to say hello, oh, you wished me well, you couldn't tell that I'd been crying over you.
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Stuart Would ya look at the size of that kid's head It's the size of a planetoid and it has it's own weather system Looks like an orange on a toothpick I'm not kidding, that boy's head is like Sputnik spherical but quite pointy at parts He'll be crying himself to sleep tonight, on his huge pillow.
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Sadly sung sanctuary, I hear it in each one Of my bones, tear drenched, drunk on my own Despair. I'm crying tonight, the dawn of the Stigma Christmas, My thoughts, every one encoded In viral disease, each one burning on for One thousand years. I'm sitting on a pew. In A church, in a city, in a world I wish I Never knew. Where the crucifix should be I See a mirror, and my reflection doesn't Appear. So I weep. So I'm non-existent in This fallout shelter we call America. So I'm condemned tonight, to celebrate the Stigmata we call Christ, Jesus, and the holy Ghost. I'm alone in a world no one's ever Known, and I'm doubting beliefs that I've Always felt in control. Of all the lies I've Told to thee, this is the one that will Always Haunt me
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The painter stood entranced before the work which he had wrought;... he grew tremulous and ... crying with a loud voice, "This is indeed Life ...
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I thought I heard the dark pounding its head On a rock, crying: Who are the dead?
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The tears of the world are a constant quality. For each one who begins to weep, somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh.
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Have you even been in love Horrible, isn't it It makes you so vulnrable. It opens your chest and it opens your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They don't ask for it. They do something dumb one day like kiss you, or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like 'maybe we should just be friends' or 'how very perceptive' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.
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Little girls are the nicest things that happen to people. They are born with a little bit of angelshine about them, and though it wears thin sometimes there is always enough left to lasso your heart-even when they are sitting in the mud, or crying temperamental tears, or parading up the street in mother's best clothes.
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The drying up a single tear has more of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.
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I wept not, so to stone within I grew.
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