And now comes the weeping, at last.
The frustrated yearning for a different fate.
The faltering step in this walk of life.

For living is all that I know, yes indeed.
And though I know of sacred places,
where God resides and there is no pain,
still with humility I want to stay here.

The darkness of the fingers that stroke
like feathers upon the grasping eyes
opens this unexpected falling water
on this face, this older face of mine.

And now comes the weeping, at last.
This bitter resentment against the body
that can be so welcoming to disease.

For the mind still thinks, yes it does.
Remembers too, perhaps even worse?
It has captured, and captures, events
that has filled its grey to bursting.

Forever is such a long term release.
A word, a thought, that trickles
like the tears through a broken
cup left alone on the old table.

And now comes the weeping, at last.
Bitterness, rage, and despair, are the
words that force themselves alive.

For here in the world is where I
have found so many special people.
Their weeping shall be added to mine,
or so this is what I have imagined.

There are so many more poems
to write, and a great many more
to be read. So many creative pieces
to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle.

And now comes the weeping, at last.
It begins with a memory and slithers
down until it is a force all its' own.

And now comes the truth, as it will.
Humbly disguised as caring hands.
Let the rain begin in these eyes.