When describing a piece of me,
What else come to my mind,
But that terrible word that I did see
Flying from the people’s mouth.

“Pessimistic” says them
With a smile as big as a couch
And their eyes shine color like gems
As I gasp and stumble in confusion.

“How so, dear sir? Is it so transparent
To the world out there
That my behaviors so fit to this drastic word
That only use to describe maiden on top of a closed tower.”

“Ay, sir! Indeed, sir! Your name spelt it so
Your arms and legs move without purpose
Your eyes are bent as the crescent moon
And your smile is a mask that hides your true burden.”

“Burden, thou said, my good sir?
What is this burden thou speakest of?
Wherefore did I not know before?
That I carried such weight upon my shoulder?

“Nay, sir, people knowest not what it is they desire,
They know, although, what it is they pursue
Faultily, innocently they chase
With their dream catcher until the morning dew.”

“Dreaming, am I,
And why not, for dreams are goals
That contain a possibility of success
If one is bold and believe with their soul.”

“Believing, good word, believing
A rock is still a rock
Though one can insist that it is gold
Dreams and reality cannot be confused!”

“True that, true that, good sir,
But what gives gold value
More than the mere belief
That gold is better than rock?”

“Ay, but this is a different belief,
A belief that involves equations and experiments
That we have been conducting for the last thousand years
With much blood and with many tears.”

“Ironic, is it not?
Pessimistic, thou sayest me
But here thou art, describing the art
Of brutality that only we are capable of.”

“Pessimistic! Thou art correct!
Our discussion were importing such word
Regarding as to wherefore thou art
Described by such ill an adjective.”

“Ill, sir? I beg your pardon,
For I think no disease of it
T’is a noble word
That is correct for my description.”

“Pessimistic, thus, thou concur
Thy soul is full of doubt
Of this horrendous world
And, most importantly, thy ability to it altered.”

“Alas, doubt has I,
But full, dear sir, I do protest,
For confidence I, too, have
That I shall alter the world.”

“Altering the world with only such words
Do thou not think that t’is too soon?
For such words to be said,
Such dreams to be dreamt?”

“Nay, soon is superior to noon
Morning comes when it wants
And no mortals can tell it otherwise
And Morning is never too soon.”

“Ay, but that is too much optimism
Thou belong not on this pole,
Where the shining, hot rays
Will burn thy hope, passion, and soul.”

“Ay, sir, thou knowest me best,
I am too much in the moon,
That I prefer the lights of stars,
Than I do the rays of heaven.”

“Ay, sir, I knowest thou best
Thy doubting soul made thee stronger
And mark me when I protest
That ‘Pessimistic’ is thy word.”