Belinda's Tear

With a mother gone the world stopped.

Nothing was left to quell the anguish.

Naturally, and ever so quickly,

pain leapt from her heart to her cheeks.

Locked now into her youthful bones,

anguish dripped into a mournful tear-

one with the shape of gnarled sorrow-

one that refused to die with night or dawn.

No, the matriarchal flame would not desert her.

Having declared the depth of her loneliness,

its presence was still there, and not to be forgotten.

And as for the silent tear, it will flow on and on.