7:43 pm

I don't understand why I'm like this sometimes,

A hollow, cold, bitter soul that broots and glooms over life's miseries,

The glass is not half empty nor half full but its presence is far more irratable than the contemplation behind its mass,

I am supposed to be happy.

2:30 am

Even though the sun is not shining in the cold morning air,

I believe god's grass was made of your hair,

The dew drops- its shine,

The dandelions that danced their way behind your ear,

and the sweet ignorant gardner who shreds away at the withered ends of your own,

Goodnight, my love.

12:00 pm

Her smile is a painting,

Made by children who do not know what art is,

It is completely original and beautiful even if the croocked teeth and the dimples that hug her lips say otherwise.

She is as beautiful as fresh cut grass in the afternoon light.

9:31 am

They said her name like it was ice in the summer sun,

They adorned her casket as if spring had come,

They had curled her hair as she had done in the fall breeze,

Her eyes glossed like the ice that had formed on the pond's surface in the winter freeze,

She was 7:43,

but unlike me,

She was not happy. 

7:43 pm

I am supposed to be happy.