Fickle Thing

Happiness is fleeting escaping through the folds raping through memory breaking through holds It erases the bad times it eases the rough times but is gone before a second gone again before the clock chimes What an elusive thing this happy medium in itself foreign yet familiar dusty off the shelf We clutch it when it strays near we huddle it close by yet it flees so elusively gone in the twinling of an eye oh what folly is this to pursue such a thing happiness is a mythic beast a make-believe song that bards of old do sing It stretches, it wans it soothes, yet pains for when we have it we rejoice and when we lose it we lose our voice it is fleeting and mysterious i see no truth in its gleam but once upon a time I had it though I'm sure it was only just a dream