The Life of a Teardrop

Slowly I melt, out of my nest.
Traveling down a sleek, cool mountain.
A finger comes wiping me away.
A sour but powered teardrop.
I fall to the ground without a sound.
That is my life as a teardrop.

Behind every tear is a powerful emotion. Behind every tear is a life. I wrote this poem from a writing prompt about tears. Instead of writing about something sad, I decided to write from the viewpoint of a tear. When you think about it, tears say so much without making a single sound. They only last for a minute or two before disappearing into our hands, clothes, or the ground. From the moment they make their slow descent from our eyelids, tears follow more or less the same path: down our face and onto the floor where they become absorbed and forgotten.

When you really think about all of the places our tears end up, it’s safe to say that the whole world is touched by our tears at some point. Just added proof that we leave our mark everywhere we go.