Can I ask you a question?
one of life,
or maybe living?
one that no one has answered
that is unforgiving--
why is poetry so ugly?
and deep?
and complex?

Why can't it be simple?
and happy?
about wildflowers
and running through them?
and stroking the mane of horses
who smile and dance?
when a pretty girl appears
with tulip scented perfume?
and a boy who's madly in love with her green eyes

can he pick her up by her waist and hold her close?
and whisper serendipity under her twisted brown locks
into her small, un-pierced ears?

no. he can't just be happy. he can't.
why?

because humans are a deep, suffering race
we are complex
no day can simply just be "good"
we won't allow it
rather,
we want to hear about the pain of others
death-sufffering-sorrow-sin-***
that is want we want to hear
and by doing so we create a life of our own suffering
death
sorrow
sin
***.

don't ask why we suffer
we want it
and we want others to, as well
but in our destruction
we find comfort
and manage to live another day
anew, fresh with hope for what is to come
we still manage to believe
that
the darkness of the moon will not consume
the sun's bright eyes