Cry

The glaze, covering the window
to the soul, the optical resolutution
our view, to the world
the open expression of the self.

The brine gathers
filling the holes
water over broken ice
the surface obscure.

The facial collapse
first flows escape
trembling of lips
broken down defenders.

The guttural sob
pain given sound
well of hurt, of sorrow
overflows, the bowing head.

The hands move
face receiving solace
as the body collapses
broken by release.

Dont, there is no need
first response
discomfort of the witness
please don’t cry.

As the welling of pain convulses
and true feeling explodes
I squirm, I wish not to be here
my futile outreach of reassurance.

Placing arm around
the shaking shoulder
droplets of bitterness
fall to the table.

There is no need
words released from stupid mouth
empty phrases to sooth
my own embarrassment

The crier, the wounded
relieved by the expulsion
we stand with stupidity
our embarassed faces
longing for the end
we offer solution
of paper and cloth
to dry away the fluids
wipe away the moment
to feel the relief.
- Ciaran Burke

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