I am fundamentally an optimist. Whether that comes from nature or nurture, I cannot say. Part of being optimistic is keeping one’s head pointed toward the sun, one’s feet moving forward. There were many dark moments when my faith in humanity was sorely tested, but I would not and could not give myself up to despair. That way lays defeat and death.

Nelson Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom: Autobiography of Nelson Mandela….

He hated the thoughts to flights again

Rage hit him slowly
As they pointed at his insecurities,
Realities pierced in deeply
From teardrop of past casualties
“Risk were at his heights”
Scared to push for truths he knew
Settling for premeditated comfort zone
That delivered hard punch,
Leading to lasting sink
They defined him as lazy in summer’s crunch

Questioning the person he really was,
What he was heading towards
And becoming who he always wanted
Tragic honesty brought him inwards re proves
For he stayed on that cliff too too long,
With magic not used
Storing up inside for so so long,
He gave no chances to sudden improves
Interpreting the depths
From height,
As glimpse of death

Fearing that next step
Would lead to a drop
For he preferred holding the knob
When that door needed just a knock
Apparent impression being his worst enemy
For not showing all unknown abilities
That which fights inabilities
To becoming inquisitive
Frustrating efforts of ignorance
And pointing to him
Efforts with tolerance brings
The high views of being an optimist

His thoughts on effect of a fall
With strong imaginations of a Berlin wall
No imaginations of fresh air in cloud
And sights from high becoming very loud

Tears he had like cutting an onion
Fears and doubt his strongest companion
“I can’t make it big again”
His surest opinion
Depths from cliff
Only sight he could behold
I whispered to him earlier
On tales of old
The truth be told
Great falls that would not kill
Only gave known individuals a stronger hold

He choose to ignore
Failure as being temporary
Pain lasting for a moment
And anger stays only for a little while
Once you take another flight
He chooses hopelessness
When all I saw
Was an endless potential for greatness
He hated the thought to flight
When it was his turn to fly
For it was painful watching him fidget and forlorn
He should know quitting was that monster
That would hurt generations unborn

Idealism is a bizarre mixture of hope, naivety, and enthusiasm.



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