Mercedes Articona Poetry

There is something in happiness that I fear—

As brief as a stranger’s smile
As fragile as sheet-thin glass—

One discreet beam of light between two infinite bounds of darkness
Of seclusion. Of isolation. Of solitude.

Who knows when?

One thud—an interruption
Amidst the perpetual wails of silence.


There is something in happiness that I fear—
The hand you held—leaves no trace—
Marks of vows not even time can recognize.

Refusal. Lethargy. Cynicism—
A cold and dead-pale stare at bliss
A quick turn of the back towards joy’s promises—

Who knows when?

It is that butterfly that rests on your shoulder
And you dare not make a move so it will linger—
Fear. Doubt. Preoccupation.
Your one shift, your one twitch—
One flip of wings—all gone.

Trust. A broken story.
With life’s own life: Impermanence
Eternal hope thriving in the fleeting moment—
A flame you feed but cannot hold—
A fire you stoke—but leaves you trembling with cold.

But who knows when?

A question everybody asks—
An answer not a soul knows—
A risk the whole world pledges to take.

Who knows when?
Who should?


End of all ends—
Still the beginning of another

Robbed again by shrewd circumstances
Bigger than you are—
With no direction but to its end.

There is something in happiness that I fear—

Poet: Mercedes Articona