Can a poet be happy, I truly wonder?
Except as a temporary passing whim
If she decides, weary of angst,
To allow mundane happiness in.
Poetry, for me, means a flight of my soul
Soaring past the limits society holds.
I exult in joy, and bleed in passion,
Weep for love, emotions crashing
Against the rocks that hold me in
The words emerge from deep within
Too raw
For mere happiness.

#alkaverse August 2014

Can a poet be happy?
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