Tears, That Were Your's Poem by James McLain

so it is
as one would
say.

maybe not
so quite there
as they
would have you
say.

Yet upon those cheeks
the tears
they run and burn.

and burning
how they run.

I cry
the mask
into a soul
of one
as that.

No one
should be forced
to hear them yell or
scream.

just to taste
your fear.

When you hear
I can't
but yet you try
or if by force
they make
you cry.

and cry they
make you strip away
your mask.
drips your
face beneath.

Their need
to make you feel
their pain
is that their
worn out soul
is bared.

and such soul
to pity that
endures.

precieved as weak
if through the mask
each tear
it drops away.

The tears
my pain
my salt they throw
away
and may not
taste.

barrels of salt
that should not
go to waste.