In the quiet depths where tears should flow, A desert forms, a silent woe, Dry Eye Syndrome, where moisture fades, And vision blurs in dimming shades.
Eyes, once clear, now feel the ache, Of dryness where no tears awake, Redness blooms, a bloodshot hue, As burning whispers, pain accrue.
Through screens and pages, blurry mist, The world obscured, where sight persists, Light, once gentle, now a glare, As sensitivity fills the air.
Fatigue descends on weary eyes, From hours spent 'neath digital skies, Aging, meds, and climate's sway, Conspire to steal tears away.
Yet hope springs forth in treatments found, From drops that soothe to meds profound, A quest to heal, restore the tide, Of tears that let clear vision ride.
In this balance of tear's art, Lies the rhythm of the heart, For in the moisture, health is seen, In eyes refreshed, life's beauty keen.
