It is a curious feeling, a feathered
Falling that is—for a lack of words—
Damned to be dreary, and ironically bold.
But it is the most desirable of reasons,
To dive into madness and become a fool.
A compassionate wish that waits
For no man, and always seems…
A little incomplete. But perhaps, it is just I,
Who ponders upon the preconceived
Notion that such a feeling, such being,
Should be sought… For I believe,
It should be avoided as avidly as can be.
Surely—such a dream is the sweetest
Plague, that paints itself in a lullaby-like
Light that tricks those with the weakest
Hearts—those who are easiest, most likely
To be led astray—the gentle and the giddy,
The bashful and the beautiful.
It is the most unlikely combination,
Of overwhelming—complete—wanting and
The deepest depression I’ve ever felt.
It is happiness and hopelessness,
Tragedy and romance—the consequence
Of a lifetime of restless nights
And regret, that I never learned to dance.
DannYetman
www.DanielYetman.com
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