Expecting to Cry
Tears are not like raindrops
trickling down my window pane.
The traces of the rain flow
silently, easily,
linger then
disappear.
But I must squeeze
every tear
from deep behind my face tears
do not drop unbidden from my eyes.
They are blocked, held back as if
a beaver sought to dam
not a narrow brook
refreshed by rain and
passing through narrow banks
nestled here within the woods,
but instead tried to obstruct
always and forever
the overarching sky.
 |
This page created and maintained by |