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The Eyes of the Drowned



I endure my days
with slow tears
creeping down my cheeks.

Joyous or sad,
makes no difference.

If I am awake,
my face is wet.

You can imagine
the frequent comments.

What's wrong with you?

The part of me that cries
is no longer a part of me.

What else, I wonder,
has declared independence?

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.