Tears of remembering, hiding just within reach,
not wanted right now.
Yet, they somehow keep insisting on showing
Quiet strangers, lurking just beyond the
shadows of joy.
Unrecognizable in the morning sun, because
they have thrown a shroud of unrelenting pressure
over that of good sense.
Watching memories as they fade in and out, pulling
the past forward under blackened clouds.
Hearing thunder clap against my mind, as lightening
sears and burns my inner life.
Falling quickly to knees of clay, molding them
unceasingly to prayer.
Folding quietly like a stranger within myself,
hiding from dangers of crystal tears.