Years

Channels of time running down my face, like dried riverbeds.
Elusive tears, vaporous, no longer tangent, no longer seen.
A pulse grown strong from trial and worn emotions.
Carried like a parasite, or some hitchhiker, the unknown.
Always attendant, never contributing, nothing but nothing.
Cold fear, rage, unconscious wanting... you.
Today and yesterday, a nameless vagabond, taunted by my tears,
And tomorrow, not caring the sourness or taste of life in any regard.
Maybe the hand that reaches out isn't there, or is something else.
True reality, understanding, perception of wisdom, to know what one is,
And what is about one, there are answers deep within those channels.
Despite the dry tears of fears and anguish, never loved,
They will well up again and flood my soul with God's love.