I’m not sure when I stopped being happy
joyful moments deluded me for years
with their soft afterglow into belief
that the dark was a mere fleeting shadow
“just the other day – -remember – – the light
danced across the fresh puddles in the street”
but that well became another dry hole
the psychedelic plunge into Dante’s
multi-foliate heart wilted like roses
scattered dryly across the crackled ground
a constant worry coupled onto blame
and recrimination left little for now
beyond tatters to wrap myself within
as I await a final gust of wind
(June 24, 2014)
subtext 