No Tears Will Flow

It is easy to be drawn to your world. The scope of despair does not repel. There is a sea of darkness that poses mystery and it attracts. Brokenness, like a virtue, like a lesson taught by the many taunting instances of history leaves the soul bare, leaves the outside yearning to be let in. You are somber, accepting the course of fate that should befall. It is the desire of one, it is the pleasure of one. This world protects its own and offers merely a glimpse for those who wish to gain an understanding. You appear true, truer than anything else these eyes have seen. The perfect gimmick or just fooled by the haze of your secretive ways. Come offer these thoughts, unveil your plans, calm the storms with your centuries old wisdom. It is easy to be drawn to your world, there is truth in the roots, there is hope hidden somewhere in the back alleys of memories centered around a day when life as you knew it changed.

The sadness is so deep that no tears will flow. It is earthed in the most sacred burrow of your soul. It asks nobody for forgiveness, it haunts no idea in pursuit of change. Your soul, like a giant, takes the sadness to harness grace and humility. With each battle lost you know that you must learn. They are your people and their sadness, your own. You have seen them resilient and you have seen them crack under the burden. You have never seen them betray the only idea they live to protect. The sadness comes from generations being denied the freedom to falter. It deepens with every boy becoming a man, with every will overturned, with every silent plea never reaching the makeshift wall to bounce off of. Herein lies the inattackable concept: truth brings about infinite sadness.

The cycle of life must continue. Out of boredom or a heightened sense of duty, the task is carried on, the sadness passed from mother to son, the darkness kept out of sight of the rotating Sun. There is consensus that this deed must be done. It is a hereditary tendency, encoded in the genes of everyone from your world. Despair. Despair at the state of the now, at the thought of the past, at the bleak possibilities the future holds. It seemed some of those thoughts were more highly regarded than others. There is fault in your unending sadness, there is danger in your world of despair, there is caution that begs for attention over your all encompassing darkness. Still, your world attracts for it lights the way to further self search. It is a source for truth.

You are not moved. Not even by the bustling spring landscape? If my soul was better, purer, whiter, I would follow. Spring captures me. Sends me years ahead in the future, fills me with hope. Life, once again, is showing its power. Despair now has no room in my heart. Darkness banished, brokenness forgotten. Yet, not at all. With every petal appearing there is an urgency to turn towards the founding notions of your world. Beauty seen as a hindrance only to be used as an aid in painting the infinite power of one. You have made a deal. A union so sacred that complete surrender sends you standing strong at the edge of anguish. I long to follow. To believe as well as you. To long for the sadness as much as you have made it your soul’s desire. To want the dark, inexplicable despair. To know a sadness so deep that no tears will flow.