walking down the street airily,
up comes a man so hairily
telling me how unsofairily
the world has been to him.

you see my dear friend,
our lives we must mend
for we never know our end
thus we pretend we live forever.

death left its mark,
a hardy spark,
deep inside our heart
vulnerable til the end.

a stillness occupies the brain,
an illness with all there is to gain
that causes unfathomable pain--
mental illness, will I ever be the same?

What I elected is fresh perspective:
the world is not so defective,
it just needs a new directive!
one that is protective,
completely unselective,
and infective with love.