Tattered shadows lay across
True beauty disguised as dross.
Sullen forms on the surface lay.
Shining gold,
Dormant.
Reflections of Yeats' pavement grey.
But joy cannot,
And will not,
Be kept at bay.
From those who seek.
Those children,
Lost,
Wanderers,
The meek.
They will not find,
For they do not seek.
Gold lays beneath the veil,
A cascade of dust,
Broken fragments,
Of a child's forgotten fairytale.
Look upwards.
And you shall prevail,
Life a sinking boat,
Which you must bail.
Happiness cannot be expected,
It is you.
Yourself, your gilded thoughts,
The part inside that lays,
Neglected.
Happiness,
comes from within,
To on the surface be reflected.
Reflections will appear,
In things far and near.
Cast off the sullen cloak,
Have.
No.
Fear.
Happiness is not him
Or her
Or it.
Happiness is not some thing
Is not a bottle,
Nor in a book writ.
It lays beneath the grime, and grit,
A candle,
Waiting patiently,
To be lit.
The End.
I've cared, I've dreamt, I've hoped, But from me life must have left. Everyone has their time, Mine is now, I fear That smile the oft lit my face, is gone. My cares, my hopes, my dreams, Are done. The curtains must close. Goodnight, and safe home, to you all.
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