Tears of the Blue-Bleak

Waking in this glass-light prison where losses magnify; painful tear-prisms shiver and shatter the blue-bleak shriek of air on another mausoleum morning of mourning. Grief's sharp knife-edge slitted the sapphire sparkle of small hours. Sky-cried raindrops trickle down the window pane. My early morning coffee cup brims with a bitterness I cannot contain. Raw regrets throb thick in my throat. Tears for the lost ones: the ghosts who gather in fuliginous gloom, their haunting hollow-husk words shivering through me. Secret tears for the tiny life that leached from me in throbbing gobbets of crimson. Silent tears for the departed who sleep deep, shawled in their tear-beaded soul-shrouds. A filmy gauze of grief forms on my eyes. Teardrops glisten like the crystalline beads that glistered on the satiny sheen of my wedding gown. A crystal flow of tears solidifies and freezes to an ice floe of unaccountable fears as the terror cards are dealt in turmoil. A choker of tear-pearls chokes my throat; diamond droplets of desolation dampen my cheeks. A sea swell of sadness squeezes the salt water from each eye-pool as losses batter and buffet me. Morning's frangible glass-light shatters; the teardrop shards fall and scatter, blue-bleak, in dolorous dawn's tear-trembling light.