A poet’s tears run down the internal wall
..until..
they all spill out in a puddle on the floor.
An ugly, unsightly mess
..until..
someone comes along to gently mop it away.
But a leak, however silent, is still a leak
..until..
it is a flood that can no longer be controlled.
A poet’s tears run down the internal wall
..until..
the wall cracks under pressure and we all drown in the words.