I want to write of happy things,

joyous ocassions,

of which there sure are aplenty…

yet, for some some reason,

perhaps a long standing conditioning,

I keep getting dragged back,

back into the mud,

into the quicksand,

a murky swamp…

 

Why oh why?

why is there so much joy,

in the misery an sorrow?

in the chewing bubble gum,

to solve a maths equation.

 

Why oh why,

do I,

am I,

do I,

with little to carry around,

worry that I indeed have little,

i have only this trouble,

this trouble or that…

 

I am lacking,

not in joy,

yes in joy,

for I am lacking,

in troubles…