Happiness is a wretched prostitute;

in fancy clothes and a painted face

Her seduction is old… oh so very old;

but it tastes fresh on the lips of desire

Happiness is the sprinkled coloured dust;

on the wings of a summer butterfly

The colours seem eternally captivating;

but they fade within the grasp of greedy fingers

Happiness is a deceptive illusion;

preserved within the frozen moments

The illusion seems perfectly alluring;

but it shatters in the presence of logic

Happiness is a vulture sitting atop the tree of life;

disguised as a bird of the paradise

The brilliance of its colours blinds the eyes;

but its greedy heart betrays its beauty