Feelings feel like a window teared with falling drops.

Could an eleemosynary action wipe away pane’s pain?

Aches of angst, idiopathic and uninvited, blur any scene of serenity.

Is Weltschmerz giving reason for a cry or did joy turn down a street from unwept to unkept.

Even when a sunny disposition benefits as a cynosure in one’s day, a field of sadness may refract that warmth, leaving, in wake, hope warped.

If meeja on the telly keeps telling stories blue, how can one wake to clarity of view?

Either be a squeegee or let it wash itself away; grief may be clear and spotless is not always faultless, so opt for that which opens a finer focus. : )