Drops of truth flow sweetly down the curve of the face
Welling from an infinite source
Where Love and pain intermingle in a swirling pot of memories
Some conscious, some quarantined in a private reserve
Of shame and unworthiness.
Their presence is betrayal to the facade
They seep through the layers of woven protection
That suffocate the breath of joy and dim the inner light.
Cutting through to the surface like a fresh wound
Like little ninjas they collect at the edge of the abyss
Ball up in a tuck and roll
Simultaneously ripping off their mask
As they free fall over the wall to the ultimate surrender
Pay homage to each tear
Each are testaments to an ancient and universal plight
The illusion of separation from the source
The universal cry to belong
And to be collected back into the arms of Love.
Jen Ward 1/8/14