Happiness. A notion we preach,

but how often do we put it to practice?

Suffering takes the brunt of our disillusion

that the world exists to fuel our pain.

Is there a line we've yet to cross,

hidden in the fog of a selective memory?

I'll wander until my toes hit.

Let the trepidation come over me

as my heels follow into uncharted territory.

I leave the map home,

for there is one theory I've yet to put into practice.

How can I be found

if I am never lost?

The fear melts.

So this is happy.


Cling onto hope as the serenity dissipates,

asking Lady Liberty for a hand to hold,

Uncle Sam in the other.

Two distant relatives

forging roads of serendipity.

Neglect the unpaven road of trials.

When the pain is soothed

with words that lose their meaning

as the chaos disbans.

Adolescence of the heart

requires the virtue of an ever working mind

churning out ideas

of a better tomorrow,

prospering in the nothings of today.

The tragedy passes.

The smile still attached.

Not all hope is backed by disappointed failure.

Somewhere, buried 'neath the complex of a bruised heart

it just is.

I want to go there.

Pinata Heart

Responding to invitations

to parties of pity,

to play pin the tail on the donkey

though you can't see your own backside.

The agony of defeat.

Gag me with a cake fork

because a spoon ain't going to cut it.

A pinata heart.

Now take the bat and strike.

The sweet pours out,

yet greedy hands swoop in

stealing precious victory.

Deflate the balloons

filled with your hot air.

Unplug the stereo

and breathe.