a brief poem for the pessimistic
It comes wrapped in this package.
It’s these dark colors and inks.
Thin is the size and the breadth.
I’m thinking reality stinks.
All my love letters written.
All are wrapped tight with a bow.
I’ve thrown them in the sewer.
The only place where they’ll float.
I’m busy grasping something.
It may not exist or did.
I think it withered away.
All of my hopes went with it.
I am so pessimistic.
I see no light in the sky.
I see misty fog at best.
I no longer wonder why.