The last Teardrop by Walter Mallon
The last Teardrop
The falling of the last teardrop will be the falling of the last memory of you.
Time stands still as the teardrop falls, all of heaven focused on the descent of the last thread of life that holds me in this rapture.
The teardrop is the paradox of a vast plethora of emotions that I can no longer understand.
The teardrop falls on, dooming my soul to a meandering through life all alone.
Through the teardrop I can see the reflection of your stare.
I lose myself in your gaze, becoming ensconced in a world more beautiful then a castle made of gold.
For not since Helen of Troy has there existed such splendorous an entity as such that sends nations to war.
For one kiss I would fight a thousand battles, for any prince would die for a chance to touch his lips to yours.
The teardrop falls into the pond of forgotten memories.
I stand still, staring at my reflection in the pond.
No longer do I see you looking back at me.
I stand all alone, my countenance unknowing of your memory.
The princess sees through the pool a dying soul.
Once a blossoming flower, now turned down, its petals falling to the earth.
The passion in the teardrop fuses with her beauty.
She rises from the pool in all the splendor of her magnificence.
Her flaxen hair flows with the winds of creation.
The gaze form her emerald eyes lays siege to the hearts of all men.
No women in the universe can rival the beauty of her curves, her body is the grace of magnificence.
She is a god, a queen...a perfect creation.
She takes my hand, her touch warming my soul.
I feel her soft breath, her lips touching mine with a soft, loving kiss.
All my life I lived for this moment, to be fulfilled by this special woman.
Now I may pass on to the next life, no more teardrops will I cry.