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When?
I'm tired of writing sad songs, exhausted from scribbling gloomy, melancholic poetry
When is it my turn?
When will I revel in the joys of unbridled happiness?
There's not a hateful bone in my body, and other's successes brings me great pleasure
But you can only clap for so long when it looks like life is hurling past you like the subway
I long to write about the sun, mother nature and her flowers
I ache to write about moments I cannot place into words
I yearn to write about a love I am haplessly lost in
But the only thing in my peripheral, is wastelands, cold winter nights, and trotting the streets lonesome
I realize that happiness is a emotion, and like every other emotion, is never constant
But even if I just had a taste of it for a little while, I'd be content.
When, just when?
© JDW
When is it my turn?
When will I revel in the joys of unbridled happiness?
There's not a hateful bone in my body, and other's successes brings me great pleasure
But you can only clap for so long when it looks like life is hurling past you like the subway
I long to write about the sun, mother nature and her flowers
I ache to write about moments I cannot place into words
I yearn to write about a love I am haplessly lost in
But the only thing in my peripheral, is wastelands, cold winter nights, and trotting the streets lonesome
I realize that happiness is a emotion, and like every other emotion, is never constant
But even if I just had a taste of it for a little while, I'd be content.
When, just when?
© JDW
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