A poem is a tear
Cried by the soul.
Flowing like a river,
Of ink upon a scroll.
Served to the reader
That they may enjoy,
The poet’s tears of sorrow
And tears of joy.
A dropp of her soul is
Spilled upon the page.
She shares love and wisdom,
Emptiness and rage.
But make no mistake,
Without it she would die.
If there were no pages
For the tears that she cries.
This is how she copes
With the storm in her soul.
How she bravely forges on,
With a courage I extol.
When the storm subsides,
De sifts through the debris.
Where dhe finds another tear,
To create her poetry.
© S.E.S
Note- Originally written using 'him's
