Along the lines of reminiscence,

the last tear

fell down in much too haste

lest the rest would hear

the ancient wails of history’s

moist imprint upon my skin.

Afraid that they would let evade

the searing pierce of silent sin.

It fell before you noticed.

It fell before I held.

Drained the fervor of seas, alone,

and was lost before it felt.

Thus it pulsed its last.

The last one that I shed.

Eased over shredded cloth on bones,

it disappeared, spread in a soundless sigh,

with it drowned the echoing moans.

So let it die. So let me cry. 


4 thoughts on “The Last Tear

    1. thank you.. 🙂
      you are an accomplished poet… your poetry, it’s refined and unique.

      But then… poetry cannot be compared. It would be like comparing two different worlds, two different lives.. who are we to judge and tag a magic that is beyond the limits of our imagination. We can only be a part of it….
      isnt it?

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Thank you for the compliment.
        I’d tend to agree and disagree with you.
        Comparing two flowers is always going to be left to individual preferences and affinities — they’re both special and beautiful.
        But when you compare a flower to a turd, well, the flower is always going to be seen as the more beautiful and lovely to place upon your dining table. 😉

        Liked by 1 person

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