I found myself embellished–
embellished by the beautified theory of happiness.
Happiness is just but a fraudulent make-belief emotion
reposing lifetimes to procure.
It’s an artificial phenomenon
manufactured to sedate the anguish of a sad man’s reality.
When would one reach the calamity of happiness?
Man yearns for a cure.
One allowing the heart to pump.
The lungs to breathe.
The soul to heal.
To anticipate the presence of dawn.
Have the O’mighty lords of creation become insensible?
To ensoul ambling remains of dust
dissipating for an anon of a fictitious belief– happiness.
In God I bestow my trust,
my anguish, my hurt
to live another dawn.