Tears

Tears

All I am left with now
Is one
This soft delicate petal,
Lightly bruised in my palm
After the wind
has played its cruel
"He loves me, He loves me not"
and I know
he may be the first
but there will be others
many will bleed
and perhaps I will suffer too
as love toys with lives
and we seem thankful
as fools
rejoicing at the moon's
fur of glamour
but that cold silver steel
seems out of reach
until it draws tears
these liquid expressions of pain
because blood is beautiful
we meet it in birth
it becomes our life force
but tears are fragments
Of your soul