If cynicism’s seven I am nine.
The labels used for politics seem daft
as those of literature, and even mine
are drafty as a rotten-boarded raft.
Conservative is meaningless where Fate
is actually nothing. Liberal is less.
Romantic’s passed by years its sell-by date
and Realism’s forced and must confess
that they are all, these labels, nothing now.
But Life itself is filled with Gems it means
to be adored, not analyzed on how
they might be labeled. I adore the clean
and mystic wonder of Life’s precious things
like birdsong, smiles, and ageless wedding rings.