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The Optimist

I wish that I could purchase
A paper of good news
Which didn’t love misfortune
Or laugh when people lose
Which didn’t sneak and pry
Or celebrate a lie
Or gossip, steal and scandal
Then revel while we cry

This new paper’s called The Optimist
And you don’t need to buy it
The first issue is free you see
So you will want to try it
‘What is all this?’ the people say
They look slightly bemused
The happiness inside has made them stop
And they’re confused

It’s been a long time since they paused
To think and look around
And see the joy and beauty
Just waiting to be found
Not in the shops or on the box
This joy is something new
Or old that they’d forgotten
But now recognise as true

They hardly dare believe
As they delve inside again
But the stories are all true
And nothing’s awful or profane

Two sisters reunited
After fifty years apart!
A boy who saved a stranger
And that is just the start

Of all the good that’s happened
And your heart’s about to burst
Because people can surprise you
When you don’t expect the worst
The hunger and the vanity
Are swiftly set aside
As something more important grows
Where bitterness resides

And The Optimist begins
So slowly, it’s effect
The hearts and minds of all begin
To thaw and to collect
The sun begins to shine
Like it never has before
And people start to wish and pray
For peace instead of war

And although this paper’s fiction
It may pay to recognise
The Optimist cannot exist
If we don’t open up our eyes
 Apr 2013 Josh Morillo
Whiskurz
The Song
A Poem by Whiskurz

When does a poem become a song?
Does the music make it real?
A melody makes us sing along
But the words are from the quill

Without the words the music's blind
It can't see where to go
For the words are how a song's defined
And the music's just for show

Wrapped in notes and chords to tease
It's meant to entertain
But it always takes the words to please
Or the music's played in vain

The words are there to touch the heart
Or the music might be missed
For it only plays a minute part
If the words did not exist

Some has said that poetry's dead
But they couldn't be more wrong
For the poet sees the music's fed
Or there couldn't be a song
© 2013 Whiskurz

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