A Collection of Poems

098: Tears

Eighth part of the [Gray Goodbye] project

XCVIII

TEARS

Come to me,

Children of the gray tears

Rise from your pools

Of recollected ashes

Awaken from your deathbeds

Of false realities

Take my hand and see

What pain has done to me

See, the world

Cradled in fragile diamonds

I live there, by the bay

Of blue horizons and red skies

I used to tend lotuses

And lavenders for a living

Their perfume I sell

To the people above

I live alone in this house

Of the sighs of generations

Ages of poverty carried

Yet perfume distinctively sweet

Hands of work I have

To press the petals nicely

Until the flowers wilt

And liquid bottled in

Cracks on wood and concrete

Filled by hope and love

Each family passing

The skill of the perfect aroma

Now, I am ninety-something

With none to pass on

So come to me,

Children of the gray tears

Perfect little tears,

Mother paralyzed in bed

Brother sent to heavy war

Father blind with helpless child

Sister fever burning high

Grandma need a little food

Grandpa need a little water

Child wandering alone

Such perfect gray tears,

Empty stomachs and mouths

Coal-smudged faces and hands

Tattered, oversized clothes

Ripped bluntly on the edges

Running along the busy avenues

Under the unsmiling dark clouds

Children of the passing rains

I need

Those pure little gray tears,

The innocent kind of sorrow

That experienced truth

The life below hope’s feet

Below the end of the glittering rainbows

Where light is a faint glimmer

A spray of distant stars

I need

Those tears,

Solitude within abundance

Mixed with untarnished agony

Is a definite type of aroma

The petrichor of nostalgia

Calling from the north wind

Calling me to home

I need

Your tears,

So come to me,

Children of the gray tears,

Tell me your profound stories,

Your little joys and cries

Come to me, and together

We won’t be alone

Eighth, and together

Ninth, we’re alone

Soundtrack inspiration: [Suppose] by [Secondhand Serenade]