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Joy stills the pen that gushes forth in sorrow.
Happness is lived, not written down.
Tears can best be dried on ink soaked paper.

Happiness will dance off of the pages.
Heartbreak rides on words into catharsis.
The butterfly of glee can not be captured.

Pain is limned in black and trapped by parchment.
Happiness is painted on the sky.
Sadness wallows in the dirt of midnight.

So my pages overflow with misery
While gladness hides away inside my heart.
                                ljm
Relatives have called my stuff dreary.  The above is probably why.

— The End —