Every once in a while, I attach myself to a poet I particularly admire (don't worry, the dead variety) and try to emulate his or her style of poetry. This one came from my 'Emily Dickinson' period.
Happiness Missed
Happiness is often missed
in haste to satisfy
pleasures that, like breaths deep drawn,
soon scatter by and by.
But the grief that follows thence,
when understanding wakes,
ne’er is voided nor delayed
when on the heart it breaks.
So pass not the quiet need
that whispers to your soul,
for, in leaving it behind,
you leave what makes you whole.
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