Down With The Cynical Poem by Frederick Francis

Apprehension of what’s to come, experience of things past.
Our fear of re-occurrence, quite a shadow it can cast.
Enough to always rob the joyful light of something new.
Deny it all you want, you know this to be true.

Maybe the experience was not yours, perhaps it belonged to a friend.
Possibly they were cut so deep even you needed time to mend.
Their wounds linger still, taking time for healing over.
And for this duration your caring feelings are left stranded and quite sober.

It could be your imagination, a good one you possess.
You let it run wild and stir things up a mess.
You imagine what will happen, a dark cloud begins to loom.
But we all know the rhyme of what will happen when you assume.

Perhaps it’s your independence, I’ll admit, losing it’s a sin.
But if caring for another’s the cause, you never had it to begin.
Independence is intrinsic, a personal state of mind.
Not something that can be taken, but something you should find.

You say none of this is true, that right now this just feels fitting.
But please save your breath, I don’t want your bullshitting.
there is a reason you won’t leave yourself out bound to a cross.
Open youself up to take a complete and total loss.

Give up all of your power, an lose all of your control.
Leave the door unlocked, the figurative one to your soul.
The euphoria you’ll experience, I wont attempt to explain.
Due mainly to the fact, for no two will it ever be the same.

Trying is a lot to ask, but giving up is easy to do.
So give up everything that keeps it away, and let it come to you.

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