A Hopeful cynic

The grip of solitude,
Justified, malignant, overwhelming,
Cast on me, so spiteful, but homely,
Just to awe me,
Love rose on the horizon,
I knew it shall set, it did,
A cynic, they call me,
I choose not to argue,
For they shall know,
Soon, they shall see,
Wet their grounds with tears,
Of pain, of longing, belongings,
Shall be shattered,
On the rock of life,
Like some lone traveler,
Lost in a journey,
Seeking peace,
Thirsting for smiles,
I shall look back, wonder,
Why I cried,
When I’m laying on my back,
Witnessing the cover of my grave,
Only to be known, by my name,
With the fire of my angst,
Of the past,
On my tombstone please write,
‘I fought to win, I sought,
And I’m here, asleep,
Touch my tombstone,
Resurrect my soul,
Free me’.