I was short of a dream
walking along a quiet stream
by a salty shore of pain unseen
people asked, “Where have you been ?”

My eyes red, through things I reap
I have drunk the sting of tears I weep
and drowned my soul in shallow deep
cried out my heart in silent sleep

None to hear or heal my pain
I kept it hidden inside a grain
with roots thick through seasons of rain
twisting branches upon barren plain

Till I cried no more, red eyes can’t see
and  lay myself beneath this tree
budding bitterness as bitter can be
I fed off its fruits and buried me