A Dialogue Between "Me" and "I"

I said to Me:

The sun may not be as bright,
And so the tide that does not necessarily turns our way,
The heart may not be as light,
As there are many things that made it sway.

When all the troubles seem to double,
Even the pillar-less sky looks ready to crumble,
When a cry is a silent cry,
Even the deepest ocean is thought to be dry.

Why, why and why?

Me said to I:

Hail and hearken, thee!

Look at the clouds; dark and heavy they may seem,
Yet they still bear the silver-lining gleam,

And the rage of the storm,
Will not forever haunt and roam,
Thy survival,
Will only spell thy revival,
Like the blooms of spring,
After a long, cold winter.


O I,

Let not you say life is such and such,
Just because things do not work thy way,
And whine not at troubles too much,
For troubles would bind thy day.

I said to Me:

Oh how easy it is to say,
In rhymes and rhythm to spell the troubles away,
If words and stanzas can solve them all,
Then bloods would not be spilled,
And hearts would not be torn.

Tell me O Me,

What worth a grain for efforts done?
Then, lo and behold!
In minutes, those efforts are gone,
Null and void as they clutch no hold.
Like fire that sweeps the dry grass,
Burning all those in-between so fast.

Worse is the story of hours of work,
And in the end I do not see any,
Except a barren land and a dork,
Which is I by numbers many.

Me said to I:

O I,

Do you not know?
A plant does not grow,
And bear fruits in a day?
Some takes decades for them to show,
What had been sown long ago,

Patience, patience dear.
But patience is not enough.

If you were to grow a flower,
And yet to it you seldom attend,
Not days had passed then will you water,
Not weeks had gone then will you fertilize the sand.
How do you expect for it to bloom, then?

I said to Me:

O Me,

Perhaps what you said is true.
Perhaps I will keep abreast.

Me said to I:

Come then, take my hand.
Perhaps I have forgotten you.
That has made you turned all blue.
Let us make amend.

For better days ahead, amen!