I will cling to happiness.  It is my choice.  In the depths of my mind I forge the armor that will protect it.  I fashion a shell that will house my attitude, my desire, my hope.  If I let invaders pierce its soft hide with rusty hooks, I surrender control.  My happiness has scars from the days I have failed.  Yet, scars, when pondered are scribbled wisdom left upon the survived portions of the heart.  I will cling to happiness.

I will not cling to the past.  In the darkness, heavy deeds, done by me, done by them, hang, in a blanketed fog.  A suffocating mass of sorrow falling down in a blur like a felled warplane.  Black smoke swirls and chokes happiness, the fire, burns in my heart.  I try and douse with contemplation, time, and prayer.  I look down, and smell fresh gasoline on my fingers while I hold the black lighter.  I take a deep breath.  I will not cling to the past.

Life quite possibly is a rock face.  Idleness breeds fatigue.  Wind and snow discourage.  If we stay within sight of one another, keep the heart happy, a warm yellow beacon will be lit.  It will rise to the summit.  Perhaps many will follow.  Happiness breeds encouragement.  To climb or fall? It is always my choice.  May I choose to cling to happiness.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

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