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.