The happy will never know

There is purpose in being morose

It’s not as shallow as it’s made out to be.

The ones who see no point in melancholy

Are the most deluded of us all.

Failures in seeing beyond the hunky-dory

They try to heap the blame on

Doorsteps drenched in salt.

Those anchored by pain will hold ground

Sweep the world under their lashes

And wash it clean within their closed eyes.

It’s an intimacy with the universe

The happy will never know.

 

 

 

About Runa

With words you can reveal, hide, confuse, clarify, rule, beg, love, hate. In speech words live momentarily and die with the moment. In writing, they are immortalised and in being unspoken and unwritten, they become omnipotent: God like. My words here could have remained unspoken. Could have. They're immortal and that's enough. View all posts by Runa

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