Some Days

Some days,

even the days that are kind,

(and quite lovely)

feel a deeper shade

of aching life.

And you’ll never know why,

(at least, I never do)

but you might hope

(like me)

that one day the ache will settle

and you will no longer wish

(quite desperately)

for something more.

Or less

(I can never quite tell.)

What did the poets do,

you might ask yourself

(like I do)

and you’ll try desperately to forget

the ones who didn’t make it

all the way.

I will make it all the way,

(this I know)

because I choose life

even when the skies are grey.

For alchemy was the golden lake

of dreamers past.

And dreamers present fill the aching

(world)

with streams of sunshine

and honey milk days.

Shall I fill my own cup

and drink the nectar, sweet?

Shall I ask the golden lake

(of life)

to flow this way

and bring me home?