I don’t see the same curiosity
in those once intent and happy
eyes, youthful spirit drained
by the aging of disappointment.

The boy who once took me
into the vast and curious night
Has adjusted to the daytime notion
That no one can live forever.

I still recall who you were
Before I thought you disappeared,
You journeyed long into what you thought
would be your inspiration—
You returned with vague reluctance
wearing a disheartened gaze;
the stare of the boy who sought his ways
in the life he prepares to live,
how in his disillusionment he cursed
the world in the core—yet he says
that all is well.

I think you once told me, that no one
is born a cynic.
Bitterness to the world
Is all but an empire
of crushed ideals
you once held dear,
my misanthropic friend.