Collecting Thorns

Jesse-James Black Photography

Tears not wept out from a long, long time
When days turn into meaningless nights.
She shall smile some other day,
Some other time.
Each word she writes holds a story within-
She shall make you read it some other day,
Some other time.
With a million stories so hard to tell,
Poems so hard to narrate,
She shall write it with each tear she drops,
But another day,
Another time.
She picks up thorns
The way you collect coins,
Found on a happy day
On an empty street.
She has made her own museum now
Of thorns that didn't pinch her skin,
But yet made her bleed.
Some day she shall spend those thorns,
Like you'd spend yours
On some crowded river-side
On a weekend away from home.
But she'd save those like you save your coins,
To let them loose only when she'd weep for the first time,
On some other day,
Some other time....