The Paradox Of Happiness Poem by Allen Steble The Philosophical Poet

Happiness is a feathered-stone with wings
In a rushed world that ceases to stop
It seems illusory and perhaps non existent
Where many strive, yet few seem to find
It's like the diamond buried miles below
Where so few have the patience to dig

Happiness is rarely found but often realised
As many spend a lifetime seeking
Only to find the dust cloud left behind
For it seems one does not find happiness
Rather happiness finds the one
That does not seek it through externalism

Happiness is an internal realisation
That often grows from the soil of a heavy heart
It's the seed of pain that blossoms to wisdom
The kind that no forrest fire can devour
The choice and acceptance that beauty exists
In our own truth and authenticity

Happiness is as a green leaf or raging river
It's beauty exists in the effortlessness of just being