Until That River Runs Dry

Sorrow is a treasure chest we choose to hide deep inside our soul
making sure it stays tight and shut, so no more pain can leak out.

But there are those moments, and there are those days, that the water
of fresh tears pries open that locked away box, sunk so deep into the ocean of our loss.

The tears flow free, red and stinging, like a rose's petals floating to the top.
Love of parents, love of child, love of spouse or friend full of unseen thorns.

But the heart is strong, the heart is brave, has no fear when love's battlefield calls,
so the tears will flow freely, wild and fierce, determined to reach the shore where peace will heal.

So until there are no more tears to be shed, no more strength to be harnessed, no more breath to fight,
the waters of courage will flow, bending turns and storms, until at last, that proud river runs dry.

Until that time, wounds old and new will hurt and those salty, warm tears will find their way home.
Because the human heart is fierce when it loves beyond betrayal and pain, and it keeps on beating far longer than it can endure or comprehend, sewing up cuts, mending regrets, as it is allowed one more journey along the river of time.

So until that river runs dry, we choose to love, we choose to believe as the red petals of sorrow's roses
accumulate in the water that tells the story of our tears.


Trudi Ralston.
February 16th, 2016.