The fragility of happiness

can touch the moment

with the merest shadow

as delicate as the moth’s wing

before the candle devours it.

Who knows what tomorrow brings?

 

Our lives are finely balanced,

the breath of unkind wind

tumbles them.

Yet what we seek is happiness,

pursuing what we think our right,

only to find a sourness beneath the skin.

 

When will we learn

that we cannot buy the future?

Can we ever be content

with the moment that is?

© Gillian Peall

 

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