A Salute to the Blind

The seasons never cease to turn,
Yet, perhaps they may.
No rose will ever bloom from fern,
And yet, perhaps it may.

Life passes, leaves us with its rot,
Yet, we are still alive.
Youth dies and changes, wavers not,
And yet, we still survive.

It's character that hides its face,
Yet wisdom will see true,
We never grow, but still we race,
And yet, wisdom is due.

Illusion and regret will haunt,
Yet clarity will blaze,
Hopelessness, defeat, will daunt,
And yet, they're just a phase.

Such optimism may be blind,
Yet madness it can mend.
The optimist who keeps his mind
Can face that madness in the end.

June 27, 2003

It is not the matter of what the truth is, rather, the matter of how you handle it.