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;

our downfall.

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.