The Cynic
Trust not, know not,
Love not, show not,
In the midst of such vague
expressions, lies the life,
of the pessimistic cynic,
or rather the temperament
born from his solitude,
a solitude which remains fortified,
Hope not, see not,
Free not, be not,
are the unwritten rules
of his constant confinement,
Faithless and motionless
due to comfortable surroundings,
He sees the world through logical,
eyes from the darkest spectrum,
As light is merely the wrapping
paper over the ugliest truth,
Illuminated paint covering walls
that shall forever remain the same
Yet the appeal is incredibly seductive,
The brighter allure of hope keeps light desirable
Whereas his view has no seduction,
merely the fact of being fact,
Thus he embraces not corruption,
nor does he take pride in eradicating
any sheltered scent of optimism,
For he too would enjoy a moment
of essential ignorant indulgence,
if only to know the touch of acceding,
Yet he chooses not to, despite his
opinions condemned to being despised,
He sleeps in his only comforting reward,
the serene knowledge that he helps
truth be seen, known, and heard...
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