Gift

I got a gift of tears,
Tears that don't flow,
Well up and dry inside,
Isn't that enough though?

A truant drop escapes,
Over cheeks made raw,
With repeated wipes,
Is it too late to withdraw?

A palette of dreams,
Spilled over with care,
Mix with the tears,
Paint now, do I dare?

Smiles and words adorn,
Solid walls worn down,
By a core of seeping damp,
Still want a house in this town?

Wisps of vapour, leftovers,
Of the splendid gift,
Rust shackles I made,
To be harboured, or cut adrift?

When everything is gone,
To dust and times of yore,
The gift renews itself,
To be forgotten, or remembered ever more?

I got a gift of tears,
Tears that will flow,
Free from guilt or shame,
Is that enough though?