I paved
the path
of my misery
myself.
I’ve trimmed
its sides
with flowers.
It’s hard to
leave it
behind.
I’m stepping
forward.
Life is in bloom
among the stones.
Misery.
What is it?
Fear?
Uncertainty?
Begging plea?
It’s beautiful
on my heart.
It’s hard
to leave it.
I’m stepping
forward.
The road
is pulling me.
My heart
is beating.
It fears.
It fears
of its being
happy once.
Something
scatters
inside.
Certainty.
Misery
has left me.
My misery
is flowerless.
Its path
is not paved.
A sight illuminates it.
Memory?
It’s not happiness.
The body
eases.
It takes up
the warmth
of the soul.
The spirit
shines through it.
It stops
in the air.
The moment
surrounds me.
I’m certain.
The sun rises.
I’m waking.
My happiness
is like volcano.
It sweeps
over everything.
It burns up.
Grass grows
on its bones.