TEARS

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TEARS

The purple pelt of sadness soaked

In the statuesque solitude of sorrow.

Staring at the ceiling unseen

Through the veil.

Shouting: I will not do! I will not do…

An answer to Plath… Of Sorts.

We wear our feelings on the outside,

Like a hair-shirt

An Open display of dismay.

Flagellating our sores

In penitence…

Some will turn away in disgust,

But most will have to look

Having read the book.

We are the keepers of all

Sorrow, of all tears.

The emotional equivalence of the jester…

When none can wear callow

Despair…

Ours become legend.

I am legend,

I cry for all.

copyright Dale Beck 2018

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