If the tears in the night were made of lead instead of fire, who could ever wake?
If the memories were made of ice cream, won't we freeze to death?
If happiness was smooth, wouldn't it just constantly be slipping away?
If we were all flowers, won't we all just love the gray?
If the starts were whispers from afar, will anybody even listen?
If the smiles were a currency, could we starve as we hasten?
If kindness was the only cure, won't we die of common cold?
If the questions were actually answers, won't the knowledge make us bold?
For the tears are fire and lead, but the strength of hope cannot be met.
For the memories could be ice and cold, but the warmth within will always hold.
For the happiness is sometimes smooth, so that it can emerge and sooth.
For some people are like flowers, bathing us in colorful warm empathic showers.
For the starts are always talking, and we listen to their distant stroking.
For the smiles could be paid with, and this is the greatest gift.
For the kindness is also a cure, the one that's truly pure.
For having all the answers could make us only temporary bold, because with knowledge comes also the wisdom of old.
J.V.
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