This little poem feels more like prose to me. It just doesn't feel good enough to me. But I've been working on it since September 2005. I give up. This is it and I'm not really happy with it.

Sometimes

Sometimes. It hurts.
Like plucking a flower or
Trapping a butterfly.
Words come before thought
To look at a crowd and see no smile.
To see people laugh
only so they don't cry
When people speak
Only to feel alive

A friendly hand seems a trap
Every good deed only an opportunity
It hurts.
When friendship is nurtured by the material
And love is guided by the cynical.
When it feels selfish to give
Or impolite to help.

Scaling mountains for happiness
But never content.
Arrogant, we build our lives
Like castles in the air.
Ignorant enough to believe
They will hold
Through all Time.
But to know that this will not last
That the spirit is caught
In so much that shall be lost
But that glorious loss is the goal.
It hurts
Sometimes that we will never understand.
----Megha (09/25/05)