For years I saved my tears
in a small glass well
From every tearful high
and every trip to hell

From every deep depression
and rare moment of rage
When I need to write I dip my pen
and spread them on this page

The ink can be the darkest black
to meet a poems needs
or vibrant golden colours
for more uplifting reads

If you understand the concept
of what this poem is about
Perhaps you can tell me what to do
if the ink ever runs out.