Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2018
Happiness

No more than plume of smoke
To be wisped away by these august winds

Where prosperity resides only to breed false hope.

A tempory state of mind!
Of weak emotion!

We use to mask what real pain is yet to come!
Where death be the true happiness we’ll
find!

For then our pain no longer be here!

A feeble lie we give ourselves !
Oh happiness
Reality
Warren-Johnson
Written by
Warren-Johnson  49/M/Johannesburg
(49/M/Johannesburg)   
  865
   Bree
Please log in to view and add comments on poems