Spring & Cynic

 

Spring

When early mornings hollow
Send my brain up and down
Up and down and back again

When deserted by sleep and sweethearts
My heart hangs heavy
Like some petulant pendulum

When all of my life is a jangle
A discord playing over and over
And over again

That is when I long for your breath upon my skin
Your healing touch like a burst of summer sun
And words enough to warm the world anew
 

Cynic

They call me a cynic
because I do not jump up and down
at the fact of my existence.

They call me a cynic
because not all my thoughts are happy
and not all my steps are dances.

They call me a cynic
but they do not know my heart
   the force of my convictions
      the desires of my dreams
            the hope that helps me on

            and the ecstasy of the first breathing in
      when the seal is broken on a new
   jar of coffee.
 

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