A conversation between a Dark Man and a Futilitarian

The meter was unattended and I apologize. Stream of consciousness here. Be nice.

A Dark Man

Oh wretched me! A gloom made capture,
The dark draws near, though teasing conclusion.
And how I long for a coming rapture,
If not, I would have it assume illusion.

So now I am pale, cold and perfidious,
And proceed to lay to waste my members.
Told that darkness was not so vicious,
I cleaved to the bleak since December.

I believed there was the greatest insight,
To view life in pessimism, becoming sage.
But now I find a sad, frightening height,
Seeing the world as hope's only true gage.

My friend, a futilitarian brute,
Haunts me saying I surely rust.
I refuse to assent, not recruit,
By that, his life is not just.

The Futilitarian Optimist

You child, you supposed you might find,
Happiness and joy by insipid pathes.
Though your life you may not rewind,
But re-think it all, a route you hath.

Quit that now, and know you are,
A wicked sinful pile of dust.
And so your God will not be far,
For He shall raise you up I trust.

A wise man (Solomon) once well vainly said,
"By sadness of countenance the heart is made glad."
So to work, do thy duty and contently tread,
Joy in thy gifts though their eternity is not had.

'Tis a fad! This dark behavior expressed in arts,
Invariably sucked it by the mysterious ploy.
"De Morte" the screen play and all its parts,
Futility's fine though she be a bit coy.