Maybe I've been the happiest I can be
Maybe I've lost the one I can love most
Maybe this doesn't bother me
But isn't all this sad at all?

How casually I can keep living
How casually I can always hope
Look to another day, keep waiting
For even better, as though there's more.

But maybe there won't be.
The greatness found is really lost.
Though there may be new adventures
I've been to heaven, and was thrown out.

Maybe we can't​ forget feelings
As they are known to us
Like old leaves of the trees, unfading
Into the autumn dust

And when the new ones sprout
With new beauty and season
The golden shadow of the old, shrouds
New possibilities in false reason.

As if the definitions​ have been
With iron set in stone
And the new ink keeps disappearing
Leaving the old, unfinished and alone.

Now when the golden tree stands
Alone in the field of snow
The blessings of the green that can
Save him, it doesn't even know.

I'd like the concept of un-commercialized happiness
Not sold on the internet, supermarkets or luxury stores
Not branded by the colorful packaging or familiar faces
Something I will not get addicted to and want more and more

I would like my happiness not sold, rather found unexpectedly
Perhaps on the roadside, from a flower or from a stranger
Without a need to hold on to the feeling desperately
Without a need to save it for later

I would like the concept of one time only happiness
No recollection of it once completely lived through
Without a single picture, word or song, no leftover business
No successive advertisements to later prey on you

I'd like to be happy and not in the convenient way
I would like it happily, lost, having worked all the way to it
Knowing there's no point in treasuring a little of the day
If tomorrow it may rot into regretful memories

A have a guardian angel of woe
Watching over me
He collects my due of sorrow
Pocketing it in black memory
Only when I have been too happy
Will then he a little share
Out of his enormous collection
A carefully measured handful spare
So I am never lost to sadness
Nor ever in happiness corrupt
Living a life in measured scales
Between the two, in his trust
Devoid of bliss, far from infinite joy
Safe from maddening grief and