A Taste of Joy
Everyone, from the lowest crust of the echelon to the most noble of royalty has savored its sweetness, immersing themselves within a sensation so pure as to strip aside all rank, leaving only humanity behind. It is more than emotion, stepping beyond the superficial of sentiment, like a starburst of bliss paling everything else in its wake.
It is joy.
How could something so priceless be free? Whether from a promotion well earned to a dream long sought, joy is beyond happiness, more than excitement, away from love. It is a mash of all these – and yet more.
Relationships bounce through all spectrums and phases, but true love can find its way, each moment of joy a buoy through oceans of hardship, a shield against firestorms of imperfection, a ladder from dark wells of despair. It may be a simple conversation, a burst of honest emotion, a moment of joined reflection, or it might be more, so much more, so that the space between joyful moments seems to exist not at all, and you go from existing to truly living.
All emotions coalesce around it, burning fiercely within the hearts of the valiant in the guise of hope, waiting to burst free upon victory, when that surviving breath is drawn betwixt terror-stretched lips. The dawn first seen after enduring something beyond endurance brings with it rays of joy along with warmth, both for the body and the soul.
A child newly born smiling blindly can slash through the hardest of hearts, shining a light where none other might reach, a beam of pure joy through all hardship, whereas a simple word of thanks or praise can trigger its emergence from behind the darkest scowl, bringing a smile to a mouth long-bent in misery. One who has long walked the dark road of depression may find it hardest to find joy, but it resides there nonetheless , cloaked within wretchedness and pain, locked in a vault with only one key, but the key is still there, no matter how impossible it seems to find. And like a cure for disease it will unravel years of neglect and anguish in its wake, a scalpel made of delight, stitches twined from elation, leaving the scar of illness behind, a memory forever haunting, but harmless in the light that now shines within.
So when doubts drag you down and all seems lost, hold to the hope joy will emerge once more, for without that hope you may never truly seek it again, drowning within sorrows, raping your soul and tearing asunder a once-wonderful essence, denying it forever from the world it once loved.
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Heartache
Love is the most devastating thing mankind possesses.
It is stronger than bombs and more manipulative than guns. It can create the most incredible frescoes, or tear apart the mind which would have otherwise painted them. In a breath it can express joy, but in a scream it might convey anguish.
Why were we ever blessed with this curse? What act in our past ever convicted us to such wretched wonder?
Nobody ever told me being human would be so hard.
How could two people care so much they seem to join souls, and then tear that bond asunder? How could people who profess to adore one another turn into enemies? Does that love die so simply, or does it merely transform into another beast; a snapping, snarling creature which will never be satisfied until its foe is vanquished?
I do not like that world.
How could something so wondrous become so acidic, making the strongest man crumple like paper before its wrath? I have suffered that pain and never want to stand against it again, yet with every breath I am open to it, every blink of the eye brings me closer to the possibility it might happen again. Why would I do this? Why would I lower my defenses so much that I might be torn to shreds?
Because that is life, the light which feeds the soul, and without it there is only ash and dust.
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