Godot
The questions he asks
are as deep as the question of himself,
bitter,
dark questions
no one knows the answers to
He stands in a whirlpool
of
red-stained tears.
But he cannot see them
so he is not crying,
no.
He is not crying.
He is just asking questions.
Dark,
bitter questions
he can't find the answers to.
Author's Note: I know it's short, but my poems aren't typically that long. Looking forward to feedback and interpretation.