Oh, To Be Happy
Descriptions of happy
Aren't easy to find.
They are few and far between.
Happiness is a cloud of...
Pink and purple, shining dots
Of unknown matter.
Floating through the void
Of the mind's subconscious.
Dancing with electrical impulses
Blue zaps from synapse to synapse.
Left and right, everywhere
And no where.
Happiness is forever in search
Through chasms of unknown caves
The cobwebs and shadows of the past
Where colorful pictures,
Familiar smells are hiding.
Waiting to resurface
With childhood and oceans.
But we live in the depths
Where the light never goes.
Where our fellow fish of the sea
Lure you in with misconstrued
Flashes of nourishment.
Blink - blink - until you are swallowed whole.
It is so dark indeed
Happiness can't come here.
It cannot flash it's purple glory
Or show off it's intuition.
We hide in the depths and dark places
Where it cannot find us.
We have become accustomed
To childish games of black-lined boundaries.
Ambiguous niceties; 'how is the weather? '.
Occasionally, blue footed birds
Will pierce the surface, diving to our depths,
Dismantling our ducks
Into feathers and bones
Whilst stretching only his skin around our words.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
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(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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