We feel happiness 
In moments vivid and fleeting
Nothing more than
A birdsong chorus 
Or the flutter of butterflies 
In the breeze

Klairosclerosis

I flip through 
The written chapters 
Of my life
And as I make my way
Through still blank pages 
I catch a glimpse 
Of the end

Moriturism

As words spill freely
From behind loose lips
Rivers of thought begin to form
And while they ebb and flow 
Around the heads of those&nbsp;&nbsp;
Pouring them into the world,
One must wonder if they will manage 
To trickle into ears to fill empty minds
Before spilling into seas of apathy