I am bleeding,

somewhere inside of me,

a heart that was always finding

new ways to grieve

now looks upon the decaying body

and sees the eye weeping

when it should bring forth life;

a tear

or two, blood, in evidence,

a strain of being a man,

now decaying even in soul

a tear

in the body,

not a stream of blood forcing its way out

but one mixed with the neglected,

the also-rans and the reminders

of what could have been

a tear

yet I am reluctant to see a doctor,

I am reticent to submit my fear

for white cloth inspection

by someone who doesn’t care

about what the tear means.

 

Ian D. Hall 2017