day/poem 11

(i am both busy and distracted. i apologise)

-- unsure --

i'm never sure why

i find it so hard to write about happiness

why is it so difficult to document joy

every other line is love-lorn, love lost

or some other such lament,

and the rest, feeble rants or deep complaint

and somehow, happiness escapes

a friend asked once

why this was the case

and i wrote a reply

claiming darkness needed epxression

but that joy was too busy being experienced

to make it onto the page

but now i wonder

at the truth of that

unsure if the real reason lies

in a basic lack of skill

the elusive brevity of happiness

or simply in the joy of being miserable