A Sonnet On Optimism
And Keeping Your Chin Up
22nd January 2025
If this were the end, and you chose to fold,
then your hand wouldn’t have had a fair shot.
It’s like how on a winter night, the cold
steels your fingers, lest you hold something hot.
This is a start, and here’s yet another:
a sapling, a storm, a blaze, and a breath—
where they lead you have yet to discover.
When the work is done, give the pot to Death,
but now, move. Marvel in muscle and bone,
in the beauty of a leaf that’s still here.
A passing wail cannot truth carve in stone,
however it unsheathes its weapon fear.
Look upon the sun, and speak, and smile.
Weather will change. You’ve got life all the while.
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