Silent cry
for that she was.
Tears, poetic, when
she did
with every wipe,
with every breath
releasing,
drowning.
A tide no shore
could create.
a storm no voice
could name.
Beautiful she was,
flowers tangled in her hair,
reflecting her true nature.
But tears
that drown those roots
that once held strong,
ready
to sprout again.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 1:01 AM UTC
Silent cry
for that she was.
Tears, poetic, when
she did
with every wipe,
with every breath
releasing,
drowning.
A tide no shore
could create.
a storm no voice
could name.
Beautiful she was,
flowers tangled in her hair,
reflecting her true nature.
But tears
that drown those roots
that once held strong,
ready
to sprout again.
This poem reflects the quiet pain people carry while still trying to grow through it. Even when tears feel overwhelming, something inside us still hopes to bloom again.
