Happiness.
It's a chemical floater in our mind,
An fervor we don't all brush past,
Tricky to obtain within the regularly grind.
This euphoria in your bust,
It makes everything and anything feel feasible,
No longer in need of rest,
All unfavorable emotions in the back of your mind.
Impossible to find.
That simplistic breathing,
The élan in your eyes,
The phosphorescence that always glimmers,
Gaudy, at the end of the tunnel.
Pursue it you might, reach it you shan't.
The path towards the light is contravening against you.
In the end we all know we can't.
Persistence has it's limits.
As your celebration clouds up, the luster diminishes.
Nevermore to be again.
Plunging, so far.
Into a darkness, that seeps into your soul,
Corroding your thoughts,
Making you feel disoriented, like a newborn foal.
When you think you feature the light high up in the bough,
It vanishes, like many things, with a single flutter of the lash.
Even yet, life is a whimsical sentient. As thought provoking as the ocean, and as wayward as the sky.
In abrogation, my friend, circumspect must you be, or your optimism is sure to slacken.