Image Source: Pixabay
To be happy is to seek the sunlight that filters through the vibrant leaves. Its beauty is held in momentary sight to which the passer it can only deceive.
To be happy is to count our blessings that burst like morning glories in daybreak. With passing hours we see new endings, But be it true: life’s charity is not at stake.
“Do more of what makes you happy,” they say. And yet, for many, the question bears pain. For upon our quest a blank canvas lay, But what lacks is colour; a tool for the brain.
Indeed, the discomfort we face lay in our illusion that happiness is an end, not the journey at play. A hill to climb is rather seen an intrusion over yonder a nearer joy, but all pleasure put astray.
And yet, the jovial symphony of sunligh do cast a waltz upon blossoms at peak. But blinded we become by a withering blight when gaze reach for sky; why heavens do we seek?
Human glory must rest within spirit’s scope like mountaintop firs so humble in size, For every climb bring us nearer Heaven’s hope, And beyond each fall, let there be sunrise.
Originally Published on www.bandersnatch.ca Vol.50 Issue 01 on September 9th, 2020