The Jars Poem by Skylark Woodrow

Last night I dreamed of a place more beautiful than any I had ever known,
More exquisite than the fairest sunlit glade,
Or the forests of my home.

It was a bright and airy room;
Well furnished with everything else beside,
But there was something unusual about that place,
Something fairly hard to describe.

Wall to wall and far beyond ran shelves with various jars,
Some were tall and some were short,
And some were the most peculiar sort.
Fat and thin,
Whimsy and plain,
Not one appeared to be the same.
As for what's inside,
I couldn't say for sure.
A clear liquid like water with white crust bordering the rim.
Saltwater my brain surmised,
And I reached out to see if this was true.

"Do not", His voice commanded.
"What are they", I inquired.
"Why, they are tears my child."
"Tears? "
"Yes, they are all the tears, of all the people, throughout all of time."
I looked around in astonishment and wondered; which were mine?
"Don't worry little one", He chuckled,
"I know which ones are yours.
I fashioned each and every jar myself,
To hold the tears of all my children,
And I record them in my book.
Not one goes unnoticed,
Not one escapes my sight;
For I am with you always,
Even through the night.
And when your time on earth is done,
And if you have trusted in the sacrifice of My Son,
I will wipe away your last tears,
And remove all your pain,
And you will be with me for all eternity."

(2017.7.7)