If my sorrow could speak,
It would yell from the
Highest of the Himalayas.
If my dejection could be seen,
It would be brighter than
A million piercing suns.
If my gloom could be felt,
It would be coarser than
The roughest of scales.
It all stays hidden,
Under the cover of laughter,
The shadow of happiness,
The cloak of content.
Packed away, for another time,
Possibly never to be shown
For fear of ridicule,
Reproach, and,
Resolution?
9/3/99
Can’t quite remember why I wrote this one, or what it means. Oh well.