PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I have often been enamored with the magic…the mystery of tears…how all tears look the same whether they flow from our laughter…our sorrow or our fears.

If only tears were color-coded so when they begin to rain…we’d know if they were tears of joy…tears of sorrow…tears of pain…

They saw her up ahead on one of their many walks along the sand…she was sitting at the water’s edge…her head resting in her hands.

Her shoulders seemed to be shaking…her legs were intertwined…the ocean waves had reached her ankles…but she didn’t seem to mind.

They wondered…should they go to her or stay away…for often they have found…some tears flow more freely when there’s no one else around.

They noticed the blueness of her tears and though their meaning was unclear…they thought, perhaps, the color blue meant she’d like to have them near. 

She forced a smile as they approached…as teardrops filled her eyes…

“I love to come to the ocean,” she said, “whenever I feel the need to cry.”

“Whenever I feel sad or lonely…it’s the one place I can be…where every tear I cry finds a home within the sea.”

They hoped anyone passing by…would somehow understand…what the three of them were doing at the water’s edge…sitting in the sand.

Why two of them were giving silent comfort…waiting patiently…

for the other’s tears to make their slow decent and blend into the sea.

I have often wondered when it comes to tears if I’m understanding them at all?

Is it brave to hold them back or more courageous to let them fall?

As we watch tragedies unfold in front of us…in our country every day

are tears a way to represent words we cannot say?

And long after the tragedy…when memories reappear

do these memories seep out of our eyes…are they what forms our tears?

When we remember those we loved…which reaction will we employ?

Will our crying be from sadness or will our tears be tears of joy?

I’m sure I do not know the type of tears that will be falling 

my guess is that depends on on which memories we’re recalling.

I imagine memories of the person we loved will constantly be aswirl

with memories of the tragedy that took them and changed our world.

Perhaps we do not need definitive answers as to why our teardrops fall

Perhaps we do not need a reason to understand tears at all…

Perhaps when we see tears cascading we need not think of why they flow…

We only need remind myself how the rain helps flowers grow?

I saw a tear escape her eye…

when she whispered out his name

and I remember thinking why…

and wondering what tragedy she overcame.

She suffered a loss I did not know…

a loss she couldn’t disguise

It happened a long time ago…

I could see it in her eyes.

I imagine a tear is how our heart speaks 

when we can’t find words to explain

when a memory has made us weak…

when we’re overcome with pain.

I wonder when we hold back our tears…

suppress even one teardrop

If it’s because we have a hidden fear…

once they start…our tears won’t stop.

That once the dam is broken…

and our tears start falling down

a terror goes unspoken…

that in our own tears…we will drown.

For suffering sometimes fall like rain…

a word, a smell, a thought can bring it on

and we’re reminded by our pain 

how grief is not a sprint but a marathon.

Perhaps that’s why we have an ocean of tears…

for in any dark days we have ahead

when a memory stirs and grief appears

we’ll have unending tears to shed.

I wonder…how many of us harbor a fear

that at the end of any minute…any day

a relentless stream of our own tears

are but one memory away?

At the time I offered her a smile…

to give her strength for a sadness I’ve never known

knowing all the while

some griefs we’re meant to bear alone.

They heard her before they saw her…sitting deserted in the sand.

a solitary woman…sobbing into her hands.

Her head was bowed, her shoulders slumped…her legs were intertwined…

The oceans waves had reached her knees…but she didn’t seem to mind.

They wondered if they should walk to her or should they turn and go…

knowing sometimes one has to be alone to allow their tears to flow…

I’ve often wished that tears were colored coded…so when they fall like rain

we could tell if they were happy tears…tears of sorrow…tears of pain.

For if the color of her tears could make her feeling known

they could see if she wanted company…or to be left alone.

She looked up, trying to smile at them as teardrops filled her eyes

“I love to come to the ocean,” she said…”whenever I need to cry.”

“Whenever I am feeling sad…it’s the one place I can be

where every tear that leaves my eyes will fall into the sea.”

“Where my tears once they hit the ocean…immediately blend in

so you can’t tell where the ocean ends and where my tears begin.”

They sat on either side of her…they never said a word

they listened to her crying…to the ocean…to the birds…

And as the tide kept gently rising…amid her muffled groans

they knew they had to stay with her…so she would not be alone.

So three people now sat in the sand…two waiting patiently

for the other’s tears to finish raining…and melt into the sea.

“Do not try to stop my crying.” she said.

“My heart must weep…before it can sing…”

“Instead…encourage me to begin the healing

only tears can bring.”

I find tears mystifying…and without trying to be coy…

How is it the well supplying tears of sorrow is shared with tears of joy?

It’s true...sometimes we cry from happiness...

sometimes heartache is to blame...

But why, if we cry for different reasons, 

do all tears look the same?

And where does all this water come from? 

Is there an ocean in my eye?

Does my heart control the faucet?

Will the well ever run dry?

Are tears meant to help cleanse our souls?

Why do some tears seem to glow?

Does crying help grow seeds of happiness 

while dousing flames of woe?

Some of our tears are personal. 

Only we know where they come from

Other tears are universal

and are shared by everyone…

When chemicals are unleashed on innocent people

When a man with a gun walks into a school and makes people die…

tears flow from faces all around the world

and we are left to wonder why…

Why does this keeps happening?

Why does the world do nothing…but stand by?

Perhaps it’s time to act together

and do something more than cry.

If not…then tears of sorrow 

will forever cascade from our eyes…

the faucet will remain open

and the well will soon run dry.

My heart

Held by a viscrp 

The tears that ran down his face

Cut against the vein

His years

So pure and whole

Never to stay; adolescence 

For the Reaper loves his pain

This life

Stinging sorrow

The value of a silverlining cloud 

Learn to love the rain