-Søren Kierkegaard
Happiness is not
what you thought it was
the moment
you first slithered up
from the dross.
The security
you sought bartered
courage as the cost.
Now you're most surely
as alive
as you're lost:
rock to rock,
lily pad to lily pad,
hoping to stick
the next slimy landing;
ecstatic when you manage,
every pore tingling with the zest
of once again having
skirted
certain damage—but only
for a second,
and never
having done so
in the same manner twice.
