Muted sounds of inner cries
seen but not heard,
evoked by the teared face of grief,

thirsting for lost tenderness
the delicate quintessence cries
black tears,

manifest of hurt-full pain
from that of beauty, the Woman's face
speakin' but in its lonely-ness
this face,

and to which I wish
I could take on your kohl tears,
instead, all I do is look to my left

stare at the blame
discernin' a face, distanced grey'd veil
a stranger
familiar only by name,

to which I ask
who have you become?
not the one nor the other
yet a man housing the soul of animal,

impaired from the pain of the womb
infinite oblivion vile'n you,
once a hero, man of man
now, source of that of rage,

a witness of voiceless echo
wetted delicate face; mother to all
weakened to hallowed despair.

I argue not against
heav'n's hand or will
but of loss' constant friend,

if only I could share
eye of my eye
and pull you away,

as the sound of your lonely tears
provoke more craze,
anger and blame at you first
then, the stranger that has become
the source of your tendered pain,

Weepin'n feeling
I bellow to the wild heartbeat
to the sound'full of soundless
to the loud echoless
of the voiceless,

to open the mouth,
to tears choking words,
to want to be a voice,
to give back lost words
and that of your soul
that belongs to none of yours,
to restore the feeble'd heart
priced on years, held apart
lifelong,

I fall to you
to wipe tears of years
of each one of
tried of less hoped pain,
to erase black kohl'ed tears
marked that stain
hearts of heart
of silent painful strain,

that which once had
won men its strength and peace
through love of then,
that which now
has lost even its twilight
of back then.

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