It begins at birth, and the pangs never end,
With shrieks and sobs, the air they rend,
Though more often, they live in silence,
They signal a plea for attention and deference.
They well up in times of joy and happiness,
And flow out at the onset of sadness,
They cling on for further existence,
Yet show no signs of your inner resilience.
As they run along, they skim the surface,
And look for the undulations on your face,
That allow them to live a moment longer,
Until your emotions can get much stronger.
People say teardrops are just salted water,
That its just plain expulsion of matter,
But teardrops aren’t just a pack of secretions,
They hide behind them, bundles of emotions.
Times when you are sad, and dejected,
Times when you are angry at being rejected,
Times when words can no longer express,
The feelings inside and their distress.
They are droplets of your pent-up agony,
They are droplets of your life’s disharmony,
They are the heralders of your pleasure,
And also reminders of a lost treasure.
They are your dreams rolling down,
Upon receiving the world’s frown,
They are your joy spreading around,
Upon reaching the pinnacle of solid ground.
They are the syllables of the heart,
One that is mute, and torn apart,
And needs a voice that can be seen,
And a representation of what you’ve been.
They fall off, and dry up even more soon,
Yet they leave behind their signature boon,
A memory that shall always call them back,
For forgetfulness is something teardrops lack.