Some tears,
Never flow;
They come raging in,
And then, abruptly stop,
Right at the threshold,
As if they know,
That the breath
Of fresh air
That awaits them,
Is a death blow,
In allowing the flow,
They will let go,
Of their identity,
As they get buried,
In a pillow of tissue,
Or brutally wiped off,
Or simply left to dry,
No matter how,
They seem to know,
That in due time,
They will cease to be,
Perhaps that is why,
Some tears,
Never flow.

Image Credit: Photo by Milada Vigerova on StockSnap