Y'know, there are many forms of prayer,
Some out loud,
Some in the form of a poem.

Still, the tears in your heart are enough.

Only upon nightfall does she truly feel.
Gut wrenching, heart aching, raw emotion.
The tears fall as if the drought has passed, and the earth cries, feeding her flowers at last.
It is only in the hours of darkness where her soul blossoms open, her deepest desires spilling over. She looks to the moon for comfort, not knowing whether to curse at the stars or ask them for wishes.

I love and hate to see her when she cries:
It breaks my heart like a pane of stained glass.
But having washed the windows of her eyes,
I better see her soul's amazing grace.  
And seeing me through wet-washed window panes,
She better sees my faithful love for her.
So all her tears (that fall like summer rains)
Reveal us heart and soul.  Elle est ma fleur.
Thanks be to God for tender-hearted tears
That speak a deeper truth than truthful words.
Though truthful words are health to hearing ears,
Tears speak the truth that yokes us two lovebirds.
Thanks be to God for truth that's so conveyed.  
She's fearfully and wonderfully made.

Tears shed truthfully
contain love
for the good or bad
happy or sad
hurt or joy
it's all about love
because nothing hurts
for good or bad
like that
like
love.