Bed of Tears

You cannot see them but they are there.
Lost during rage or pain but emerging as a sign of hope.
Hope for a time when you can see my tears,
a time when they need not be hidden in the darkness.

What would you say if you could see my tears?
Would you speak or simply hold me?
Would you greet them as part of me or would you shy away, afraid of the truths they hold?

I do not know how to wake up from this bed of tears
or how to leave them behind.
Through them I am inspired not depressed.
Do you understand?

Existing for no one else but me.
They are part of my soul.
Wiping clean the slate of my mind
dirtied by petty thoughts and meaningless clutter.
Transporting me beyond my body to a
calming and serene place where nothing matters.

There are no game or tests that are part of this so called life.
There is only an honest pen and an eased soul.
It is a place where fatigue and hunger cannot invade.
They mean nothing.

Tears are rejuvenating.
To cry is to be reborn if it is done freely without hints of drama or show.
They have no other purpose beyond truth.