Poetry in the blues

you do not  see the poetry
of  our improbability,

do you

if you did you would not 
want to pull us out of it

into happiness

but happiness will fade

inevitably

into complacence

while sorrows live within you
secretly,
forever,
like a child
that never takes birth

one doesn't need much else

to live on,

really,

other than the one big sorrow
of what could have been