And if you can imagine the oceans
Or seas a collection of all the
Tears ever shed,
You respect the weight of emotions
Without a flippant thought
Of which tears are important,
Or who’s tears are not.
The vast tumult of the ocean are singular
Drops, counted and collected
By the One who directs—
Exactly how far those tears will travel.
Weeping, this far and no further. At some
Point, even the proud mists will stop.
Your deep calling out to deep, wild tears.
They may toss and flood, the mighty breakers of the sea.
Who stills the roaring sorrow and calms the waves of despair?
Waters ebb and flow with lunar empathy and
Rock to sleep the gathered tears, past.
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