If we tried to put a price on happiness
the invoice would always total: madness.
It may feel delightful at first,
Eliciting a reaction we rehearsed
in front of our gilded mirrors,
for a fleeting glimpse.
All the while, we try to fill the hole,
with excess feigning success,
always chasing humility with vanity.
We rarely catch it in time;
The ledge from which we tumble
raised by our own pedestal
Where we lay our riches,
was all along crumbling beneath,
waiting for that fateful step,
when all falls through.