The Cynic and Optimist
Every good thing must come to an end,
every day must give way to night.
Our lives are like grass one day here,
the next gone: mown down.
Love fades away to a lonely grey,
everything we sow has gotta be reaped.
I am a speck of dust,
on a small rock, circling a medium fireball.
I am a rumour:
sometimes true, other times false,
a whisper a shout both short lived.
I am one average among many,
a dot on a page, the stray brush stroke on canvas.
When I hope it means I do not have,
but half expect to one day.
Peace if it lasts a day is a surprise:
it is the most fleeting of all these.
Fingers grasp my neck to choke the life out of me.
I am impotent to stop the slow death that will take the whole of me.
The cynic
All evil will have it's ending,
tis said the darkest hour is before the dawn.
What we do in life echoes in eternity,
a short bright burning candle each one.
Out of despair love raises again from the ashes:
grace has paved my way of life.
I'm a grain of sand, crafted into a beautiful glass vase:
containing life and magnifying our star,
I am truth, and truth lasts forever,
I breathe and yell: there is love and love wins.
I am an amazing creation amongst so many wonders,
a master stroke of a classic composer.
When I have hope;
it is because I have been promised I will inherit.
Peace comes more and more the less I move away from the world,
as an outpouring of the plan.
Arms embrace my whole
and fill me with light.
I am important
and my core will live on when the shell has passed.
The optimist
Perception is important isn't it?...
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