Happiness



Happiness is more good than bad.
More innocent than pure.
More fickle than a flame.
More Contagious than the flu.

It is most erratic and deceiving,
And truly less fulfilling,
Than it seems to be
When seen and pursued by the impatient observer.

Happiness is less apparent than joy.
Less soothing than a tear.
Less clinging than depression.
Less believing than feeling.

It is most fair and beneficial,
And more it grows and grows,
Than that other bad feeling,
That has nothing to do but scream.


This poem is inspired, both by e.e. cummings and by an emotion that I was feeling. At the time, I was quite depressed and was ranting against the computer. The poem that arose was this, which fits into the model of, ‘love is more ______ than ______.’ I particularly like the second stanza, as it is true and unexpected. The metaphor has many implications, both about the observer and the feeling. What is an impatient observer? Why is he chasing happiness? How is happiness less filling then? Is it true then? I like it, as it is one instance where I’ve thought up some symbolic phrase that can be buried into.