Teardrop Imprisonment
How guarded we stand
to protect our buried teardrops
wanting out from imprisoned feelings,
desperately battling our reservation
for its natural journey to the top.
Reasoning guards its checkpoints,
rational resistance gives momentary pause
to confused muscles awaiting the exchange
before molten passions reignite resting fire.
Rushing toward liberation,
calm and peace await as
strength's shuttered windows collapse,
eruptive laughter weeps
and grievance finds celebration.
Such is the unjust restraint often put upon a teardrop,
expression of the perpetual child in us all,
forever keeping alive
the rekindling of fire from the embers
of our innocence.
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My own experience with happy tears as an example.
As I lay alone in my hospital bed paralyzed that late December, 1963, carolers came to the door and sang out in the hall and then moved on. I was so moved by their singing and so happy that I was alive to hear it, I started crying for the first time since I restrained my crying when I was a kid.
Just after, my sister's high school girlfriend popped in the room and saw me crying. She turned around to leave, but I called her back and tried to tell her I was crying because I was happy, not sad. We talked. I don't believe I ever saw her again after that one time in the hospital.
Ron