Small Teardrops
by Odin Roark

Small teardrops know of travel.
They come from the depths of one’s core.
They desperately look for escape along
the torturous journey to the top.

They come from the depths of one’s sadness.
They desperately look for escape along
the torturous journey to the top,
sometimes pausing to influence
the muscle holding them back,
sometimes twisting the nerve-ends that fire their impassioned plea
to be calm once again.

Small teardrops always look toward the top, the opening where deliverance awaits,
where the calm and peace of a well-placed purge beckons reward.

Teardrops know not of their origin,
only of their birth.
their escape,
their freedom.

Oh, to feel upon one’s lips the purity of liberated teardrops,
even as some would repress such relief,
thinking it not proper to expose one’s need to release.

Cry we should,
for to not allow is to become a slave of sadness.