In the world, there are two kinds of souls, One's story is of highs, the other's of lows. The down and out, worn by life's cruel hand, Walking on pathways made of shifting sand.
They’ve seen the nights darker than pitch, Seeking solace in dreams that seldom stitch. With hearts heavy, burdened by the fight, They struggle for a glimpse of morning light.
Then there's the up and out, reaching the sky, Yet inside, they too, heave a silent sigh. They've climbed the peaks, tasted the stars, But still find emptiness amid their scars.
Their battles are hidden behind smiles so bright, Concealing the shadows that come with their height. For up above, the air is thin and cold, Where loneliness creeps as stories unfold.
Both wander through life, in search of peace, One hoping for dawn, the other release. In different ways, their paths entwine, Sharing the quest for a sign, divine.
So, raise your eyes and see them clear, In every face, a story near. The down and out, the up and out, Both echo life's perpetual bout.
