Wave of Tears
Sometimes it can be a thing. A thing that washes over you like a tidal wave. Except that you are in the desert with nary a drop of moisture. The only wet is the salty tear that traces a line down your cheek. Why the tears are leaking from your eyes, you don’t know. Is it the memory of a failed past? A past that at times is a fond memory worn soft by warm sunshine. At other times, the painful tears of barb wire fence ripping bloody shreds into paper thin skin. Is it the doubt of a present life lived? What more? What less? Too little? Too much? Just right? Or are the tears fears of an unimagined future, lonely in its desolation? Sad and withered with unmet dreams? Or maybe it’s just the pollution in the brown smog filled blue sky.