Pessimism

the hands of pessimism
touch the arms of the overconfident
and somehow
creates the scenes of vigilance
and though
nothing that bad happens
the consolation is there
like
sometimes my dear things like these
do happen
and we have no right to complain
these things are like the seasons
spring and autumn
winter and summer
day and night
like the faces we wear on occasions
of our human affairs

do you see how my eyes have put
upon themselves
the correct lenses? not for me to see clearly
but for me
to close my eyes and rest and sleep

only for a while, for soon i shall be prepared
for another crying game.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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