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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
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