Why Cry

Why Cry?

I don't cry, I won't cry,

I won't have tears for you when they ask for them.

They will think me cold, be chilled by my demeanor.

But I don't cry, I won't cry.

As they gather frozen in their grief, I will stand there alone at first I'm sure.

Unmasked, I'll stand there before them all.

And as I begin to lay the kindling of our memories one by one on the firewood at my feet in humble confidence, few will see what's happening.

Every log, measured by the swing of my axe, an act of love.

Proven love, gathered in memory and soaked into bone through experience.

As I do this I'll smile.

A phone call, an argument forgiven, for every want placed in front of my own, the time, oh how the time sharpened my axe and steadied my swing.

They see now, as the kindling glimmers with sparks of flame.

They see and smile as well

They see it in my eyes, and they are drawn to the warmth.

It's when the first child sees it in me that it will pull me like an ocean's tide to salty tears.

But I don't cry, I won't cry.

Even through tears of joy and recognition for the fire I have built in my soul, that blazes to warm those closest to me in their bitter cold.

I don't cry, I won't cry.

I will know I have no tears for words unspoken, no longing for time unspent or grace unafforded.

With loose grip, I held my axe, and you'd know if ever you held its sodden handle, why with such loose grip I hold you now.

I manifest my tears to sweat and found treasure in my sorrow.

I don't cry, I won't cry.