If poetic ink indeed flows from the heart
taking to its walk on scattered stones
Where there is no blurring of pathways,
directions are defined,
thoughts collect in either
ponds or puddles, then

Some you will find lead to a sunrise
where joy thrives in fragrant wishes,
drinking all that is beautiful
in cupped hands glistening,
overflowing with happiness,
if streaming from a heart in love

While some will crawl to an ending
beneath rain dispersing clouds,
weeping in sorrowed words,
laying waste in the darkness,
when escaping from the cracks
of a heart broken

I have been asked
why is my poetry so depressing,
I hope this answers your question