And I will be here with those dry tears

And I will be here with those dry tears

Ari Collins
eSomethin staff

May the places be glorious,

around us everywhere. The

places that are green and

sweet and young. But notorious

is this world and so one day 

it will all be gone. One day 

when I am away, the birds 

no longer sing, and the dogs

don’t stop to bark- but still

linger the footsteps in

the places that I’ve been.

The trees and me have

breathed, only the same air

for years and years, and we

will still when I am away. For

it is the gust that stays

and never fades. The breath

took before each death

passes through each and every

body. Every dead is alive

and carried through all. All the

paper in the world will have been 

used by the time I am away. And

I am away but I will be here

by the trees who have shared

my air

forever now.

The rocks- which have been walked

over millions of times, are mine. And

as young as they are, they keep

slivering away until nothingness, unless

chosen by a particular, who 

shall not age it. At their oldest

the rocks are only the dust that

forms at the bottom of this world. 

Being the small.

When I am away 

all of the rocks will be

sitting dust at the bottom which

somehow never fades.

And I am away but I

will be here, at where the rocks

were, with the one I had chosen. 

And the floor of the buildings-

colored and old, is crushed with

no force. The talk of the world

will destruct it all. And every one of

those locks will fall from the doors,

and become ancient to those who

no longer know combinations. The

tile will have cracked to create

the mosaic that was thrown out.

And the oldies who had a pout

will walk upon it until it is dust.

But it is the dust which never fades

because although, I am away

I will be here with my combination-

to hear the commotion everyday.

The bed where we lay every

night will fall underground, and we will

all be forced to wake and see the early.

And it is the slight brightness of the sky

of the winter night, which makes the mind

cry those dry tears of wishing for the light

in the sun. 

And it is those dry tears which

remember it all for us.

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