Dry Dynamics

Long line near shrine's entrance,
A miracle they've come to see.
"She weeps, our blessed Mother!"
Proclaim the faithful as they leave.
The skeptics, with shake of head
Respond, "No tears did we behold."

Who is right? Did tears flow?
Strange dichotomy here at play.
Believers see their desires reflected
While closed hearts, predetermined
Not to see, make dry eyes
Their reality.

He looks at me, and though shed
Tears are wet upon my cheeks,
Still he sees nothing, the dynamics
The same. I, like porcelain lady
Remain defined by his own cold
Heart projected upon my form.
Typo, "the dynamics ARE the same"