Untitled

One assumes that babies are born with at least
A tendency toward happiness, their brand-new
Lives, like crystalline water, bubbling out of a
Mountain spring, and that this happiness would
Cascade downward through a valley, through
The life around it, unless sediment arrived from
Somewhere, family strife, humiliation, ridicule,
Clouding what once was so clear. I wonder as I
Watch the turbid flow of my so-long unhappy life.
Was I not like this once? Who knows? The water's
Too far from the spring. The sediment's too thick
To filter. In my misery, I watch my childrens'
Children issue forth, and hope, but not with much
Conviction, that their effervescent lives will
Remain crystalline.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 45 times
Written on 2021-02-23 at 00:48

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