Tears of the Years

Oh, that I could cry,

but the tears of a thousand years

remain bottled tightly

lipped

with no expiration date

floating aimlessly in a sea of

guilt and shame

surrounded by sorrow-land,

blocking any means

of egress

drifting in waves of unpredictability

searching desperately

for the tsunami

that will break open the seal,

releasing the floodgates

to wash away the pain

locked deep in

a lifetime of

masked perfection

only now

able to be felt

after repeated death beats a new pulpit

of regrets and half healed

wounds

screaming for their spotlight

but the tears

calcified in the film of time's grime

remain locked in that bottle

long ago discarded, in thought,

as for naught

Oh, but that I could cry

those forgotten tears

so tightly lipped

cry, I would, for a thousand years

of cleansing tears.