The driest tears that crown the eyes
and drain the will to weep
mean more than wailings' dour disguise
and every secret that we keep.
These tears of men which never fall,
but wait within some wasteful pool
of lost emotion's hallowed hall,
to whet and sate another fool.
We chide and cherish both displays
as strength or weakness too.
The driest tears of man's dismays
still cannot help but cloud our view.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great imagery. While reading your poem I got an image of a man's eyes full of tears. So full his mind was clouded and he couldn't feel what his heart was telling him. Thank you for sharing. RoseAnn