Two-hundred and Sixty-eight: The Real Tears of Grief

The real tears of grief do not jump from your eyes.
They do not grip the edge of your eyelashes and say a prayer.
They do not seek tissues or applause.
They do not smash onto your cheeks like waterfalls,
or origami your face into a picture of pain.
They are not an orchestra of tragedies.

The real tears of grief creep to the ledges of the windows of your soul
and they fold into your irises, glowing like failing heartbeats.
They do not fall. They escape. Like sad sighs;
like feathers in a skinny breeze;
like lullabies you thought you’d forgotten.
The real tears of grief are pure, raw and silent.

Something’s missing here. It’s not punching me in the face. I don’t know why I am always so impatient to publish.


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

6 thoughts on “Two-hundred and Sixty-eight: The Real Tears of Grief”

  1. Maybe what you like to have is some discussion about your feelings or ideas — which is why you decide to publish “prematurely”… just a thought. That’s what my facebook account is for. I test run stuff there sometimes, before I publish. (my dirty secret.) 🙂

  2. Hmmm, maybe there needs to be more balance? like you’ve said all the things they are not, but I think there can be a lot more said about what they are as well. Like how much they hurts, and how they don’t really escape unlike normal tears, but just hang around and threaten to drown you.

    But it’s still lovely as it is 🙂

  3. I think now I know why I felt this poem was published prematurely- it’s because I wasn’t able to convey exactly what I meant to say. That is, tears of grief aren’t dramatic at all; they are subtle and real and they’re not necessarily bad. It’s more like… recognising the pain and flowing with it. I guess you need to really feel something before you can let it go.

    This poem will have to go back to the drawing board!

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