Tears that clean,
Cleanse the broken soul.
Soul.
A living thing.
Unseen,
Unheard.
I hear them cackle;
"A soul?
How absurd!"
Wicked grin carefully applied,
I sit,
Tears pouring,
And I beg and I plead,
"Why are there
Wars,
And murders,
And famine?
Why are there devils,
Wih teeth,
That hide in my closet?"
And no one knows
The answer.
Only a soul
-
A
Pure
One
-
Can reply.
And it can't,
Of course.
The soul has
Died.
The tears didn't stop,
Didn't cleanse,
Didn't end.
And now...
We have nothing to defend.
