(written on my brotherís birthday)
Marc R. Sherland
He cries aloud at television shows
Finding the sadness far too much to bear,
And cannot stop no matter who may stare,
A victim of each hurt and earthly blows.
Some think he has grown simple in distress,
Not knowing how to hold his tongue and fears,
Expressing loud, every little vale of tears,
That complex mass of nuances confess.
I envy him at times that he can weep,
When we must be so strong, a witness dry,
To punishment of illness, its clean sweep,
Wiping his human skills that he might die.
His passions sway dredged from a lake so deep,
So in imagination we might leap.