Surely life is richer with both ends present.
People who only want the acoustic ballad,
They get beauty poured upon them in spades.
But beauty unending soon grows expected,
Less inflected; less a foil for pain.

Surely the sweetest a rose can smell
Is after an experience with the stink of hell.
I don't understand those who just feel anger:
A constant stranger to comforts all deserve,
But nor is bliss reserved to serenity.