Joy

Its name has oft been sullied by the sages and patronized by poets and their lore its scholars have adorned lethargic pages and yet we’re not much wiser than before. Recall a life imbued with endless wonder when ascertained through bright and callow eyes whose fleeting glow has slowly darkened under the ashen pall of time and compromise. It lurks and softly murmurs in the distance, it hides between the tides of passing days that swiftly march away from our existence deep into the unknown’s eternal haze. Yet on the rare, mysterious occasion the sky, as if beneath an artist’s brush is vivified, and with some light persuasion the world is caught in play and starts to blush. The moment is as brief as it is splendid and leaves behind a warm but fading light that renders me, at least for now, contented and wealthy with my morsel of delight.

gene16180

My muse can be unseemly and nomadic although she fancies meter and good rhyme, her diligence and output are sporadic, and some may say she’s moving past her prime. At times she’s off consorting with the sages reflecting on existence, as it were, At...

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