Man Cry

Weeping Buda

The tears of a man are loud and deafening

As they echo from a place within rarely revealed

They’re not cried but regurgitate from the bowels of the owner

Where they have for too long, been concealed

 

To the ears witnessing them, they are surreal

To the eyes stealing a glance at the strained face

They are unreal, perplexing, vexing, and uncomfortable to observe

They are disturbing, unnerving, helpless, and out of place

 

Because of their rarity, measured-pain, and shame

Creating an uneasy atmosphere for all consumed by their presence

As the mere thought stills any room courageous enough to house them

Knowing their rage and frustration have chosen there to take up residence

 

Their essence mirrors a volcano’s pressure exploding

As the earth beneath them begins to tremble and quake

Heads are bowed, eyes diverted, from reverence as on to an Oak tree’s

Roots releasing the land, bowing after its final stand, breaks…

 

For the lions roar has become a sigh

As the king of beast surrenders to sorrow and cries

 

The broad shoulders built to carry the world slump

As the weight becomes to burdensome

 

For when a man loses his control over emotions

And finds self-sobbing like an infant that’s lost sight of mother

All pause to acknowledge the anguish and grief

That has no equal, no resemblance, to any other…

 

The quiet entangles the breath inhaled and chokes

As the air is iced over with the chill of some great revelation

The most silent of tears begin a hurried journey through clasped eyelids

As if they have at last run-dry of patience

 

Vibrations jerk and jolt the solidarity

Of the strength normally represented by a well defined posture

Head held high, shoulders held back,

Now replaced by the fetuses slope, balled-up like an ensnared lobster,

 

Disheveled and broken

The repentance can no longer be withheld

As the tears of a man’s cry

Escape masculine bravado and at last are unveiled!

 

Nigel Holly 2012, © All Rights Reserved

 

 

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