Water Is But A Tear

She tiredly erases
the Fear in those faces
Brought on by the fight,
She didn't sleep that night.
Hoping for sound in empty spaces,
(hearing nothing but darkening light),
she knew what lie in those Cases,
she knew the only option was flight.

Ay! To behold, she was a sight
twisting her face with the courage of might
with the sun beating down, o'er her head
picking up her feet, with which of lead.
Oi! With which for painful blisters, she braces
for those stains on her socks, a dash of red
A drop o'er there, not thoroughly bled
Only kept going by past embraces.

A smile threatens, (water ahead)!
"It is a miracle that I am not dead!"
Oh, but it is heat that replaces
the failed hope for good-graces.
Water is but a tear, falling in spite
like flying nothing but a lackluster kite.
'Cause what was it, of which she said?
Ah, "this packed dirt floor makes a fine bed."

Sadly woken up, those happy bird chases,
her journey wouldn't, couldn't fail, despite
the horribly wrong choice to go left, 'stead of right
and losing that last drop, a bad thing she displaces,
Never been a crier, though a lip she must bite,
and will not give up, if giving up is a shred,
then hope is nothing but dread!
"Ay," she cries, "the good of life is long out of sight."
NeverKnew NeverKnew
13-15, F
Jul 11, 2010