I cry when I see beauty.
Like the yellow and purple evening clouds
That sit still on the air above me.
I cry when I see brilliance.
And a heart holds more truth and intellect
Than that of my own can bear.
I cry when I am tired.
Of the noise, of the night, of the people.
Or even of my own voice.
I cry when I feel passion.
Something like the amazing shape of the trees
Or the shiver of rain that tickles skin.
But never do I cry
When I feel pain or sadness,
Because that is not what teardrops