There once was a presumptuous poet
Who thought his poems were the best ever wrote,
He was quite prolific,
Thought he was terrific,
But he never wrote anything of note!

No wardrobe, no rabbit hole do I need
If it is to escape this world I look....
I just go to the library and read,
Where I can escape in a world of books.

Those who can clearly see and clearly hear
Who choose to turn a blind eye, a deaf ear
To all they do not wish to see or hear,
Are clearly shallow; clearly insincere.
Their own happiness is all they hold dear;
That they care not for others is quite clear.

If all were either black or white,
If grey areas there were none;
If all were either wrong or right,
One or the other, no question,
Would it be either good or bad?
Would it be a blessing or curse?
Would it make us happy or sad?
Would we be better off or worse?

The deepest wounds leave scars that never go
Perhaps so that we and others may know
That all our pain and suffering is real
And becomes a part of us as we heal.
Tho' often 'tis the deepest wound by far
Which hurts most yet leaves no visible scar.

Who knows all the right answers
Though intelligent may be...
Who knows all the right questions
So much wiser are truly.

When lost in the depths of despair,
When all hope appears to be gone,
One has to dig even deeper
To find the strength to carry on.
Though one may doubt the strength is there,
It lies within us all somewhere.