Puddles

The mighty wall of flames that dried my tears,
Has used up all its fuel: I’m out of rage.
The anger that sustained my bluff for years,
Is dwindling to nothing as I age.

What will be left when my forced wrath is gone?
When nothing hides my ever-drowning eyes?
What am I when my blazing mask’s undone?
A blackened remnant, soggy from my cries.

I am a charred, disintegrating husk,
That’s washed away in my own woeful flood.
But mercifully I’ll decompose to dust,
In puddles of evaporating blood.