The Pursuit of Happiness

 Grey day after grey day,

the awe of rosy dawn long lost,

and the dance of the waves

missing the music of their past,

 

we sit and wait through

long nights,

Through midnight’s stale majesty,

 

Perfectly still in the absence of breeze.

The rum goes down like water

and the weeks     months

 

and years

melt away in the conveyor of the doldrums.

 

With no hint of land ahead or behind,

memories of our homes faded into dreams and delirium,

the causes we left them for,

the lustrous hope,

throbbing desire

to sail the mystic tides

in search of jewels, gold, and glory

that felt tangible

in our giddy youth

 

give way to new reality,

grey day

after grey day

in the stillness of those grey

and sickening waves.

***

(Minneapolis, MN -- September, 2018)

There's something ironic in having big dreams and living what appears to be an interesting life. In order to run marathons or publish novels or move to a different country, all things that seem so fun and exciting, there's months or even years of boring, repetitive routines to get to the point where these are possible.