Cynic

Cynic
Please gaze out and wear
a light smile for
those of us who’ve misplaced ours—
whisper back to me and 
narrate what comes through
your wrought-iron gates,
those eyelashes,
you’re still young and
no cynics yet roam the castle’s halls—
Your eyes are earnest and interested,
in some ways unquestioning, the
advice against which I question
because truthfully
for bliss you need ignorance—
no awareness, just push your hand
forward with enthused force and
grab onto those dolloped moments,
dripping on by one-by-one, bye,
you shouldn’t think to say,
don’t regret their passage since
passage is sad
if you let the cynics in and 
thankfully you haven’t yet.
Show me, then, please,
with your young eyes,
I want to see that light again—
just that it is, not what.