Out of the blue yonder
In sheer queer wonder
Daughter asks me
What is the shape of tears?
I wonder what she meant.
Has she wept too much?
Cried as much
Or as frequent
In her tender age?
Has she bawled
And bellowed
Over some little romance
Some passing fancy
Remembering the boy
Yet forgetting the feeling?
Has she cried over epic fails
Like this, her old man
Clearly over the hill
No longer prone to chill?
Tears of joy
Could be round
Circular and rotund
As joy comes round
And round in circles
Few and far-between
They often befuddle
Confuse and muddle
Misreading comfort
Before a storm
A full circle
They signify fullness
And completion
Happiness and redemption.
My dear child
Tears of pain are oblong-ish
Rather longish
Shaped like fake diamond
They cut like a knife
Or broken sliver of glass
By their length and poundage,
They are painful to shed
Reducing this fool to shreds.
They are bigger
And heavier
Much longer, too
More excruciating to bear
Even to this whining old man
Who has cried a river
If not an ocean deep even
To last him an entire lifetime
And beyond.
