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Tears for humanity

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The day you reached that place was the first time you cried
for broken humanity.
You’d shed tears before, but they were tainted.
Innocent. But laced with the poison of perfection—
the belief that kills true love.

You didn’t realize at first that you stood in the place of understanding.
The place of confusion.
Black and white met there—
mingling, dancing.
Trying to keep up, you twirled and spun,
until all you could see was gray—
two colors obscured into one.

Falling to your knees, you reached out to it—
the only color the world had to offer.
What else could you do?
“After all,” you said.
“This is the world.”

And that’s when you first cried.
When you realized that this dance was the world.
And all of humanity was caught inside.
Even your outreached hands couldn’t stop
black from colliding with white.
Much like perfection—
a belief that was now gone.

In its absence, your tears were raw.
You caught one and held it in your hand.
There, you could see the reflection of humanity.
The reflection of you.

And the dance went on around everyone.
Black, merging with white;
good, coupling with bad.
And in the middle of it all, humanity suffered—
the world mourned, because no one could stop the dance.

“What can I do for them?”
you screamed at the sky,
wishing the world was what you’d always thought it to be.
Wishing that the place of understanding was not also the place of confusion.

But it was.
And you cried there.
For humanity.
For the fact that you too, couldn’t escape the dance;
for the fact that you had nothing to offer the broken world.

Nothing but tears.
Tears you were ashamed of.
Tears that fell because you didn’t know
how to stop the dance,
and because you understood nothing
but confusion.

They were full of imperfection—
the thing that makes tears pure.
And as you cried, they pooled at your feet.
A well of possibility.
Kneeling down to draw from it, you realized,
you could not stop the dance, but you could give water
to the world.


Written by liferenewed

May 24, 2009 at 9:04 pm

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