Water cascades down my cheeks from limitless reservoirs
And a lock is placed in my throat
So I can’t even say
What grieves me so.
But watch
And listen
And you’ll figure it out.
Tag: tears
Droplets
They roll down your cheeks,
Little universes
Each containing a fragment of your
Astonishment and pure joy.
A child whose eyes have been
Opened to the beauties of the natural world;
Meadows full of wild flowers,
Rock pools and puddles,
Waves rushing forward
Like herds of galloping white horses.
But you are no child,
And the wonder overwhelming you is
Love,
In its truest form,
And the knowledge that she
Is filled with it too,
Her body not big enough to contain it.
So out it comes
As tears
to match yours.
Black Cobwebs
You’re hurting.
I can see it as plain
as if you were holding up a sign to the world
letting them know
that being trodden on
and lied to – however well-intentioned – is not okay.
Except everyone, regardless of vision,
is blind to it.
It takes until the tears roll down
for them to understand
you can’t
keep trudging away everyday,
that care-free positive smile –
weighing several tonnes –
hiding your real thoughts.
Pretending, pretending, pretending
everything is fine.
No rest. No sleep. No insights.
It’s wounding you.
Slathering you in red;
not blood.
Anger. Pain. Sorrow.
And love.
Because you love,
because you claimed a degree of happiness
that gives the illusion you have distanced
yourself from the circle
and don’t want to be distracted,
there’s guilt.
Needless guilt.
Your choice was never to be left in the dark.
But I have shared the same
and understand why it’s there.
I hate it.
I hate how it wraps you in dark threads and cocoons you.
The only thing I can do
is hold your hand, drink your words
and let you lean on me.
It’s nowhere near enough.
Story time. Discuss
The queen saw, pointing at,
while tears dripped
freely from her eyes.
They led her over
to him, helped her kneel
beside. As an afterthought,
piled leaves over his lower
half in an attempt
to preserve his modesty.
‘It’s over. It’s finally over.’
‘No. It’s just beginning.’
A rainy afternoon
It begins as a light tapping
on glass,
a rhythmic patter
of ghostly fingers
that leave only tear streaks down the pane.
Wellies left outside the door
in a rush
soon begin to fill
and seeds cast on bird tables glisten
like small nuggets of gold.
The smell of the earth rises,
bringing forth a crowd of slugs and snails
who rummage through fallen leaves.
A tiny river courses along the path,
wetting moss and stone,
finally pooling in the dip that always stays
just a little bit damp.
The Dragon Tree
On a rock
far out in the ocean, sits
a tree.
Its trunk is
sturdy, like the
very rock itself.
And for good reason.
Instead of lush, flowing leaves adorning delicate branches that drift
to and fro
in the wind,
there are dragons.
Small, scaled balls of energy
with wings.
Their span is but a foot,
but the underside of those mighty beaters
shimmers like a plate of
mother-of-pearl.
Gripping the branches with
wrinkled, long-clawed toes,
the dragons feast on
tangy sap, ready to
take to the evening sky
for their task of catching the smokey, iridescent tears
of the moon
to fertilize the tree’s hungry roots.
Treeshallow Musings 