Tears tumble one by one
out of the shuttered eyes,
They fall apon a canvas white
and ink they now become.
They write the sorrows of the day
the horrors of that life,
etching into memory
the suffering and strife.
Of words like knives
thrown into hearts
and fists like stone
pelting down.
The tears they flow
why cease the flood
when all that comes is truth untold.
The hand that moves the pen
smearing tears and ink alike,
scrawling out,
a simple plea for
something to take their
life.
T