I could.

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If you want to hear a poem that will fill you with good feelings,
About wonderful things,
Then stop reading this poem,
Because nothing it says will have such affects.

I could write you a poem, a marvelous one at that,
Filled with joy and passion,
With beauty and with love,
With virtue and bliss.

I could write that,
But I won’t.
Life isn’t a wonderland, where there’s always a happy ending,
Life doesn’t give you the option of being forever happy.
You can delight yourself in many things,
But they shall never last,
They will fad away, as if they were never there.

I could write about life,
But who’d want to hear about that.
Everyone has life, but is that why we love stories of felicity and happiness?
Because we may never experience them?

No, poems of such blissful ignorance,
Are for a distraction,
An optimistic way of looking at ordinary things.
A way to push away painful thoughts,
And replace them with hope.





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