It doesn't come with
pageantry and pomp.
Happiness comes with the
soft whirl of the
ceiling fan, while I
sit and watch the
snow fall through
the venetian blinds.

It's the end of
debauched
momentary celebrations of
scoring enough
change to get a pint of
*****, to avoid withdrawals.
Dead friends on a
street to nowhere.

Happiness comes softly in
the jingle, jangle bells on
the cat toy, as the
kittens play.
All around me, living things.
African violets and aloe vera plants.

I live for the Zen on
the banks of the pond
amidst the cattails and willows.
Bluegill and small bass
swim the shallows.

It's the end of chasing
the chaos of attaining
things that
rot and rust.
Happiness comes
quietly with a clear
conscience and some
good coffee, as I sit
on furniture that I own
and pray for my
fellow man.

It comes in the
bliss of a hot bath.
The spirit is cleansed in
love and gratitude.