You are the hole that is filled
with the optimism of forgiveness.
I am the shovel that fills the hole
with my rushing trials of pessimism.

One day soon, I will not wake up.
At least, not in the mortal world.

You speak of upcoming glories,
that you intend to always pursue.
I drown your flames with the
exuberance of a determined mind.

On the day I die, carry on with
your blue skied version of life.

Renew the world with your
immortal songs of happiness.

You touch the hearts of people
with your eyes of sparkling hope.
I cover those eyes with tragedy
that permeates my dim perception.

Graves are empty holes, where the
body decays but the soul is gone.

Do not change your views, keep them.
Allow me also to keep true to mine.

Perspective is individual, you know.
Holes are as deep as they need to be.