Poem cry

If my eyes could cry, a river would form in this desert.
It would flow over the dunes and down through Bedouin camps.

My footprints in the sand create a labyrinth of lost thoughts.
But if I could cry a river in this desert I would drift away.
Perhaps down to the mouth and out into the ocean.

Somehow I find myself standing in the wind as it whispers to me.
Deafened to discernment, it tells me no tales.
Blinded by the bold rays of sunshine, I cannot see.

Closed eyes lifted to the sky blue and no tears from my face.
If I could open my eyes and let them cry, a river would come gushing forth.
But I refuse to shed a tear, instead, I'll let this poem cry.