The Poet’s Snafu

The pursuit of happiness.

That’s what we’re promised in this country.

But what about the Poet?

Happiness is a muse we can never possess. It’s a faraway place we imagine one day walking the sandy beaches of.

It’s a dream.

The longer we’re awake, the less real it becomes.

A happy Poet is a Poet no more.

That doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy life. It doesn’t mean we don’t smile.

We laugh, we love, we live.

But we must remain at the crossroads of all emotional paths, watching passerby’s stroll past.

It’s how we experience it all, to deliver it all to you.

We’re relayers of truth, and truth is worth more than happiness.

Oblivious By Nature

Is it just me,
Or does no one see
This wonderful, beautiful thing?

They all walk around,
With heads to the ground.
Oh wonderful, beautiful thing!

They must be afraid,
Or they would have laid
Eyes on this beautiful thing.

It sits, plain in sight
I think that it might
Know it’s a beautiful thing.

Perhaps, what it wants,
To taunt, how it flaunts,
This wonderful, beautiful thing! I watch, as it flees
And still, no one sees
This wonderful, beautiful thing.