Emotional Drought

Beginning of such languid calm,
becomes a trickle of moisture
from the eye unexpected,
running free of the determinate hand of defense.

Still…

Being but human,
even as evolution grants synapse absorption,
capacity reaches maximum.

Where does such internal excess go?

Beneath the surface it seeks refuge,
but, gathering pressure,
rises up resisting restraint,
an innocent emotion of nature disrupted
blindly seeking the distant shores it might need,
the life it longs to continue,
influence and consume.

So, it goes.

Conditioned faith.

Unprotected fear of failure.

So human we are,
bent on compartmentalizing experience,
ill-equipped to understand amorphous origins of weeping,
the nature of its needs and compassion for breath

inherent with its lessons.

Somewhere in the cosmos
designs of moist-release evolved,
presenting Man with
tears,
rain,
streams,
rivers,
oceans.

For those denying this oneness…

Our world of cumulus billow,
Nature’s swollen tear ducts,
where all weeping effects one another,
displaying its joy,
its tragedy,
its destiny,
labor's teaching,
a drop,
a tsunami,
there is but the reality of Being.

This is our Universe's often dissonant,

but ultimately irreversible harmony.

Yet…

Why do so many succumb to this nescience affliction,
discernment's moist dearth of resolve,
this phenomenon of emotional drought

needing but a few drops of honesty acceptance?