Like To Sit And Write A Happy Tale Poem by Kevin Carney

Just once,
I would like to sit and write a happy tale.
So hard it’s all become….
Sitting up late at night,
trying ever so hard.
I guess it is not in my nature.
I can’t put the cynic aside.
To be able to write about the happiness of love.
To describe the beautiful flowers,
the happy little family.
It will never be in my nature,
I don’t see things that way.
I look into the sky and see the darkness of night.
I look off to the horizon;
all I see is the end of the means.
Never have I believed the rainbow at the end of it.
Imagination overworked and over stressed,
leading to a darker side.
Always looking to question it all,
looking into the truth of man.
All I believe he will fail you in the end.
Some believed it’s a warped sense of direction.
Looking off to see a bright side,
to at least something near…
I have to laugh its just not my way.
I can see the beauty of the sunrise…
I can see the tenderness of two lovers holding hands…
It’s just so strange for me to put it into words…
I change it all around,
it writes with a life of its own.
It becomes too intense, the words change.
Is it a measure of madness or sanity?
It’s such a damn shame that I think this way…
Am I wrong on what I believe?
Maybe it’s a curse, I am not really sure.
With life there is death, the end of it all.
Birth, the young life starts ending with old and feebleness.
Isn’t it ironic that I write this way, no matter what I try to say?