A Teardrop

Through crimson veins,
sorrow flows like
a silent river
stretching for miles,
until it breaks
as a shimmer of salt
beneath the eyes.

How many teardrops
have fallen like rain?
Who ever paused
to measure their weight?

The first drop
slipping softly down the cheek,
resting warm upon the heart
did it lighten the soul,
or deepen the ache?

Who can say,
but sorrow itself.
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