The forlorn tear

A tear is my name, to say it is a shame,
for I am born out of pain, and out of unbearable strain.
With pride yet I claim, all that lamenting fame,
for I never go in vain, and my life has always a gain.

My life is short they say, though extend it may.
I crawl from heart to eye, and out of it as you cry.
On cheeks I do sway, and on shirts too I lay.
Midst fingers I often spy, even on velvet I may lie.

I witnessed hunger, I witnessed anger.
Those eyes that see the dead, is most likely where I shed.
I had crushed in slaps, I had dried in laps.
On shirts too was I fed, and into waters was I led.

I witness affection, I witness addiction.
I am born to be alone, I turn hearts to stone.
I am a lonely tear, and yet of voices I fear,
I am groan in some tone, and between moans am I grown.

I am a tear born, I am a tear to die.
I am a tear forlorn, witnessing all those who cry.