Onions and Tears

Salt
Becomes
Your common
Home
While you fit
Those taste
Buds.

Words
Hold all
Those pages
Say.
While you look
And feel
True

Truth
Or lies
None prevails
Here
Living with
Any
Tale

Drunk
Cargo
Do not quench
Pain.
Don’t sulk in
Thinking
That.

Ring
Around
That edged heat
Keeps
The fire
At peace.
See!

Ruddapoet