Well, I've come up with my diagnosis,
And I believe that you are infected.
Yes, indeed, it's a parasite, in fact,
But don't you worry. It can be dealt with.
Unfortunately, it cannot be cured.

Do you perhaps remember feeling
That you could do anything as a child?
Do you remember internalizing
The confidence and power that youth brought?
Do recall those sensations?

I can predict the rest. Someone stopped you,
Told you to think realistically.
Put you down, causing you to doubt yourself.
Doubt. That is what you are infected with.
And as of then, it has been part of you.

The air is chill, but it will soon be warm,
The perfect condition for the blossoms.
The pale pink petals, dancing in the wind,
Share their delicate beauty with the world.

However, such beauty does not last long.
Within the month, the flowers will be gone.
Why does the tree behold such quaint flowers,
If only to withdraw them soon after?

Such is the nature of exquisite things,
Burning brilliantly before fizzling.
Leaving an empty hole where it once burned,
Patched up over time but never returned.

Within life, everything follows these rules.
The loss of creativity in schools,
Or the death of loved ones from heart problems
Display the Law of the Cherry Blossoms.

A caterpillar
Scared of the world.
Going through
The same routine.
Eating and
Always in
The same place.

The caterpillar
Learns
And begins
To stray.
Exploring
Growing
Becoming more.

A chrysalis
Around the
Brave caterpillar
It needs time
To sleep
To dream
Before the big change.

A broken chrysalis.
A butterfly
Spreads its
New wings.
Free
To fly
To live.

What's the point of living?
A bleak question, I know,
But it still holds merit.
For why must we hold dear
Something, that in the end
Is forever meaningless.

Generations go by, quicker than winks,
What are the odds of being remembered?
Subsequent years after death, it gets less
And less, until you are all but forgot.
What happens to history after that?

Absolutely nothing.
Life keeps marching forwards,
Leaving behind countless.
Oh, to be forgotten,
We will all become that soon.

The cat steps on the creaky floor
Looking for its prey.
It crouches.
It pounces.
Its prey has disappeared.

The cat looks not to eat,
But instead to protect.
Its owner produces demons,
Ones that destroy the mind.
But the cat scares them away.

It defends its owner.
They need help,
And the cat is willing to provide
With cuddles, pets, and purrs,
Until both are satisfied.

The cat crouches yet again,
Ready to give chase.
Someday, it'll be gone,
But what is important now
Is that it chases the demons away.