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I call him Tom, my pessimist skeptic
Prone to despair
Judging guilty ‘til perfect
Contingency and chance his only friends
Smug in the hands of impersonal fate.
Nate is his foe, with head in the sand
Ears for platitudes, trust in the chime
“Don’t worry, be happy, all will be well”
Wishing on stars in optimistic denial.
Happily never after.
Neither can rest
In my soul right now.
Neither can swallow
The report.
I rejoice in revelation, for in it I hear
Unyielding echoes of reality,
The state of the world under the Fall
Far darker than Tom could admit.
The vanity of life and the waves up to here.
Injustice in cities and blood in the land
Hearts withered like grass, drinks mingled with tears.
And I rejoice in revelation, for in it I find
A hope.
More brilliant, more satisfying, more profound
Than Nate could possibly know.
A firstfruit, a taste
A guarantee.
A deposit made that will surely be paid
A cosmic event rippling even today.
I must find a way
To grasp this answer
Shaming both Tom and Nate.