Tears are strange things,
Related to the ocean,
Salty, wet, leaving tracks from your eyes,
To as far as you let them run,
Before you wipe them away.

But there are many types of tears,
Oh, you didn't know?
Let me guess,
You thought,
"Oh a weeping and a crying,
Are all the same thing!"

I tell you now,
There are many types of tears,
The tears of a widow,
Or those extremely loud ones,
From the small, innocent eyes of a babe.

From orphan,
Crying himself to sleep at night,
The adopted child,
Confused.

From the disappointed mother and father,
Knowing their son or daughter,
Drowning in ignorance and not even caring.
Do they not know their selfishness,
Causes such woe from their parents?

Or the tears running black with makeup,
Down, falling across a broken heart,
And falling,
Shattered on the ground.
As if, those tears some how compensated,
His forever,
That ended much too soon.

And still the tears that fall into the casket,
Or into the grass beside the gravestone,
Those tears send flooding with them,
Memories,
Oh the memories,
All rush at once from the greiver's eyes.

Tears are a strange thing,
Don't you know?

First guilt,
Then pain,
Then numbness,
Now nothing.

I can't stop,
This feeling,
Why do you do this,
Making me like you?

Sun, stars, moon, light, darkness, beauty.
Sky, clouds, birds, wind, expansiveness.
Mountains, snow, waterfall, strength.
Trees, nests, leaves,
                                   Fall,
                                           Fall,
                                                   Ground, dirt, people, animals,
And as I sit to wonder and wander in these things,
Here with my paper and pen,
Lying in a hammock,
Thinking, pondering, wondering,
Done.

Answer me,
Look into my eyes when you speak to me,
Or I to you,
Let me know how you feel,
Talk to me please,
And secrets of us only,
For us.

Maybe later we will understand,
The thoughts in each other's heads,
With out the use of frustration,
To convey our empty hearts,
And our empty hands.

Let the space in our hearts,
Be expressed out in the air,
Like the visible breath on a winters day.

And the space between our fingers,
Be told like fable,
And filled with each other's stories.

It has been six or seven years now,
Since that day I signed the papers,
Giving my life away,
Literally,
My brother and I,
Finally find a home,
To stay,
To be loved,
Even if I don't always like my "new" family,
I know that I'm loved,
And that makes me smile.

Like the biggest problem in my life,
This feeling of "Tell me whats going to happen NOW!",
I hate not knowing, I hate waiting, I hate not having you,
And I yell, and I stay up late,
Laying there, thinking,
Why, or how or when....
And I yell at other people for absolutely no reason,
And I curse at everyone and everything,
I try to take my mind off of it,
By writing, or skating, or playing the guitar...
Which I **** at all of those things,
Which makes me angrier that I am so stupid,
That I can't just respect your decision of waiting,
But to tell you the truth it kills me,
It literally kills me,
And I'm sorry.