Happiness is for the drunkards
and the other bacchanals.

My sadness may shadow me:
lurking in the corners of my mind
and the edges of my days.

But my despair defines me:
in searching for meaning in the world
against a belief that there is none.

And my pain pushes me:
demanding I challenge myself
(if only to rise from the floor).

And my grief grounds me:
in knowing that whatever I must face
I’ve faced worse, and lived.

Happiness is for the innocent,
grief is for the gods.