They tell me
there’s a time for everything,
a season for this
and a purpose to that;
they tell me
there’s a method
to the madness,
a silver lining
to every cloud;
they tell me
there’s a lid
for every pot,
an answer
to every prayer.
They keep on telling me
all these things,
when all I really want to know
is this:
When will I cry again?