Meltdown

When you hear a baby crying

And you’ve grown into the age

When you cannot cry in public

It might trigger you to rage

Or declare your thoughts to others

As a well-read baby sage.

The baby, though, is wiser

For it knows the cause of tears:

Every pain is fresh and novel

For its endless early years

And it hasn’t lived to learn yet

To explain away its fears.

When an older person weeps

Knowing well you’ll criticize

Why not pause to beg the question

That’s behind their flowing eyes?

Is it too a swift discomfort

Or perhaps a cruel disguise?

Or perhaps you’re seeing someone

Who, for years, has worn their masks

While they smiled sans seratonin

And pursued their daily tasks.

They have answers for the weeping

But they cry since no one asks.