White on White

As a child they told me happiness writes white,

But they were wrong.

Happiness writes white light.

Like a fractured beam of a smile

Spreading its colourful wings in beautiful flight.

How can we try and transcribe that?

It’s like trying to measure the depth of the night

Only to miss the view

As you fall from its height.

We don’t live our happiness through paper

But as a release from the endless fight.

How can I write what I don’t understand?

How can I write what I can’t hold in my hand?

Happiness and Light have no name beyond the science.

So I am tethered to a page by my misery

As it inspires and transpires words of poetry

Through me.

And if on occasion I am released to glance up at the sun

And its light.

Or breathe for the moon shrouded

Within the night;

I will not attempt to translate these moments

Into ink, but enjoy the release of our life.

And only put to paper those seconds

I can’t escape.

Only write in searching of

The stars which I can’t find.

Happiness doesn’t write

white.