In sleeplessness there is a worry,
Of whether true ease can be born,
Hoping that my heart doesn’t hurry,
With coldness so make it warm,
Starting to think with soul I do,
Concocting many pleasures,
Ridding away the cynic blue,
Replaced with loving treasures,
Although across the good green Earth,
The suits may have their wars,
But I strafe from bullet with my mirth
To escape deep bloody sores,
Differences are shouted and screamed,
Across the bench and in street,
I refuse to add to this putrid steam,
Thus, I play in more wholesome feats,
Of course, in my acts of stealth,
I compose a thoughtful tribute,
To those who are in bad health,
Who still fight to contribute,
So, we should make a declaration,
To pack up theses hatreds in case,
Turning such gloom into elation,
Hence reviving a familiar embrace.