Crying

What is it about crying

that can take our breath,

certainly the arrival

of dreaded dark death.

The different types

like tears of joy,

from sweet baby girls

or a playful little boy.

So many sources

with accounts untold,

both good and bad

at times hard to withhold.

How are they started

what are your triggers,

good times or bad

or multiple alcoholic jiggers.

This I must confess

it’s sad but true,

a tear has watered my beer

when I was sad and blue.

Maybe like me

witnessing a Flash Mob,

viewing a sunrise or sunset

that cause me to sob.

Hearing a song

like Amazing Grace,

or the sound of taps then

gone without any trace.

The sound of bugle or

amazing Scottish bag pipes,

tugging at ones heart

with delicate swipes.

These mysterious attacks

that delve our souls,

sometimes fulfilling

sometimes leaving holes.

Where are they rooted

where did they begin,

sitting and growing

with joy or sin.

How can it happen

from deep within self,

rushing up so fast

from a vast memory shelf.

It’s said by some a mere

cleansing of the eyes,

but what of the hurt

and the emotional ties.

For they speak from

deep within the heart,

like a vein of gold

from where do they start?

Young boys are told

a man doesn’t cry,

if that is the case

then they shouldn’t sigh.

So rich and shining

a reflection of life,

showing both joy

and the pain of strife.

A doctor I’m not

human anatomy unclear,

how are they linked

no answer coming I fear.

But this I know

without any a doubt,

I’d much rather cry

than give a loud shout.

So brace your humanity

shed that enriched tear,

open up your heart

without nary a fear.

Let it roll down

your soft cheek,

to tell the whole world

see my heart speak.

Gary R. Cramer

February 16, 2020