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.