ou l'Optimisme

The name mistakenly saintly, the other one a rite-of-life, a gauche passage for some, for most the contract costly, imprints its meaning post firey baptismal dive to rise again somehow from each our own calamities, the personal cataclysm we confront or shun in a parallel life of optimism, there each one observes what was and lingers to kiss the font of the child within every one, each their own version of the meaning of catechism, forgotten by most, yet a lingering malaise swims in their waking, a sense of de je vu, these are the incorrigible pushing the envelope, the timestamp licked and mailed off to other voices that do not speak, that do not arrive through lips, yet open sleeping minds and hold the eyelids to peer directly into and through to meet that thing that powers the brain within, to shine its glistening luminescence, one senses that thing which is forgotten within, is commissioned to win the race of life, and lose and then, win again - the losses mailed off in worldly corrupted creative ways, didactic, where one revisits as a dark shadow, standing with all those other dark shadows, frankly contemplating conversion, and the salt-strewn stinging many paths of logic through those illogical clues breadcrumbed by all those other shadows, the eternal puzzle of understanding the life viewed standing under lamplight; in the disillusioned poetic world, we must forever cultivate our garden, that never-ending dream; all is for the best, romantic cliches and adventures, falls and risings; for those who think they are normal and above it all, above the others - all is never normal, all is as it should be, all is for the best, we stumble and we fall, some stay where they are, others get up again and again; all is as it should be, all is for the best, ou l'Optimisme, Candide a muse amused Candide, all is as it should be all is for the best Candide Diderot. ‘24