Tear-drops don’t fall from stone,

Stone doesn’t change for eons.

Stone stands firm as long as it is able,

Immovable, solid, cold.

 

Tear-drops fall from the soft corner of our eyes,

They rise and fall, like breath,

Flowing in beautiful rivers

To set us free, break the dam of holding on.

 

So when did we learn to be like stone?

What hearts of cold rock we carry.

Rocks that build walls of fear,

That we call safe.

 

When did we plug the soft corner of our eyes?

The end of the river that starts in our heart,

And wants to flow warm and soft,

Down the curve of our cheeks.

 

When did we choose to freeze the streams;

The rivers of emotions?

When did we separate the E

From the motion and stop in time?

 

I see a planet of rocks before me,

Of greys, dark, pale and cold.

A planet that has lost its rivers

Where beauty has dried up from drought.

 

In drought, there is no life,

A shrivelled, cracked heart of nothing,

Gasping and calling for waters to flow again,

Before death’s shadow blocks out the sun.

 

Can we once again be the flow, the gushing,

Pounding, passion of the waters within?

Will we let the rivers of our tears,

Take us home to what is true and beautiful?

 

To be again what is our real selves.

To let go of the terror of where the rivers will take us

And trust the hand that guides us

To the gentler ways of humanity.

 

Unashamed of the soft corners of release,

In our delicate eyes,

Where waters flow, waves crash, hearts fly

And the song that God intended us to sing

Is sung.

 

Maxine Belle @2016