Men Do Cry
By Ken Faulk  
I heard quite often “men don’t cry”
Though no one ever told me why.

So, when I fell and skinned a knee,
No one came by to comfort me.

And when some bully-boy at school,
Would pull a prank so mean and cruel,

I’d quickly learn to turn and quip,
“It doesn’t hurt,” and bite my lip.

So, as I grew to reasoned years,
I learned to stifle any tears.

Though “Be a big boy” it began,
Quite soon I learned to “Be a man.”

And I could play that stoic role,
While storm and tempest wracked my soul.

No pain or setback could there be,
Could wrest one single tear from me.

Then one long night I stood nearby,
And helplessly watched my son die.

And quickly found, to my surprise,
That all that tearless talk was lies.

And still I cry and have no shame.
I cannot play that “big boy” game.

And openly, without remorse,
I let my sorrow take its course.

So those of you who can’t abide,
A man you’ve seen who’s often cried,

Reach out to him with all your heart,
As one whose life’s been torn apart.

For men DO cry when they can see,
Their loss of immortality.

And tears will come in endless steams,
When mindless fate destroys their dreams.