My Own Tears Poem by Bonaventure Onuabuchi

The needs aren't due; wasting time,
If the mission is to share in my tears.
The planks that hank in my eyes,
The flowing stream will flush them away.
The plaques that're bright in the dark,
Are history's duty to dim for the unborn.
Don't go to the bother of keeping me warm,
The summer's sun will soon spring.
Maybe; the many scars and gloomy days,
Loneliness will be my best companion;
Cuddling me to my pains' delight.
If Nostalgia should come to lead my quest,
Maybe, to annihilate the bond.
I will feign, lay down the insincere truth.
Bury my face in uttermost euphoria.
And no gaieties of the past can dig it out.

I will live my tears now that I am alive,
To save my mourners the duty.
But let them wash in the sacred stream
Of blood and tears, that bleed out from my eyes.
Though, I'll pour it in their hearts.
And I will give tomorrow some to drink;
That, if men couldn't remember,
History will forever tell
That I've done my own mourning.