I suppose I am happy, as well.
Across the myriad of sadness,
An unsorted kaleidoscope of fickleness,
Amidst the converged painful thoughts and memories,
I am doomed, nay, destined to embrace,
My imbibed happiness.
For however long it may be,
Once or twice, or just sometimes.
If it weren’t for the loss of accuracy,
An exact equivalence for what is what,
A mere loss of definition,
I would have certainly known,
Rather than suppose,
Or pry and wonder.
Nevertheless, today, now, here –
I reckon I am in vigour.
In undaunted revere.
For I can see beyond the despair.
[For now, perhaps]
Unabridged Manuscripts 
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