This is the third poem in my collection and it is a poem
relating to the title 'The Man Who Cried'.

The tears of a man,
He wept for an age,
A thought in the world,
Seems to engage,
A world full of war,
We're all trapped in a cage,
There is writing on the burning page.

I remember his tears,
Salty and pure,
He never cried ever before,
And these tears I could not cure,
Tearing in two, his lonesome heart,
He remembered a woman, so free and demure,
And death was a promise that would lure.

Chained is the world,
Caged like a beast,
His world was over and hatred ensued,
He sobbed for a decade or two, at least,
Things so angry in the east.

So he lay down his head,
Upon his wet bed,
And his dreams led,
To the death of his soul,
For he was, in his glorious roll,
That man so long ago I spied,
That man who was the man who cried.