Death of Poetry

Happiness is a sacred commodity, it really is. And that’s the eternal basis of marketing- “Buy this, you’ll be happy,” “this will solve all your problems…”
Happiness is like Helium to me, fast disappearing, yet people keep stealing it and stuffing it into plastic sheaths.
Petty fun, petty nonsense. Don’t steal the last shreds of my joy for that. Please?
There’s no one to listen; everyone drowning in their own fun.
Rain splatters against the ground, hits the window glass, slams down noisily. Newly green, newly clean. This was my joy; the rains made me happy, the lack of sun had always filled me with joy.
But there isn’t any happiness to sanction anymore and no more joy to feel. Rain is just gloomy now and I am just sad.

4 thoughts on “Death of Poetry

  1. Quite alive, the words make the post feel and real becomes the sadness for the reader too.

    Maybe only from a distance can we cherish now the joy we were able to feel from simple little things.
    Great post.!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. How a person feels is just a result of chemicals…hormones, enzymes, nutrient or the lack thereof, and neurotransmitters and nerve impulses. I figured this out when I grew displeased with my second son’s new right-wing conservatism. Then I imagined that it is really nothing more than chemicals etc. flowing through his brain. Yes, there are real consequences to beliefs and thoughts, and we have to learn to deal with them. But is a belief or thought greater than the sun, the stars, the universe?

    Liked by 1 person

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