...
TEARS OF FRIENDSHIP
Tears.
Little streaks of salted water
Making its way down a dam wall.
Over stone, through mottled clay,
To wash away anger, grief,
Pain and Sorrow.
Stubbornly dry,
His eyes stung as the dust settled,
Irritating and scratching.
Younger, less developed
Cleansing, releasing, the river halted
A path seamlessly sealed.
Outwardly cool, inside cold,
The flow of water all but ceased.
Eyes hardened slightly firmed
As the darker shadows of his home,
His family…himself, alone,
A company he would, could, not force.
But sometimes,
All he wanted to do was cry
Within the embrace;
A warmth snatched from him
And then forsaken on terms his own
For less or more a distance paid.
But try as he might,
No tear came to his eyes.
Perhaps too late, already dry
A frigid dam whose contents wavered,
Stirred in its icy prison…
Till the wolf howled and bit deep.
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