Trickster by Linda Straub


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by Linda Straub

O’ what pain this life’s possessed

when joy has been its sole desire;

to laugh and linger in that state

where sadness stands unwelcome,

and enters, a foil to happiness.

A charlatan behind elation’s mask,

sorrow’s aim is to deceive us all

who dwell in harmony’s hermitage.

Too late the hour of recognition

after song and gleeful repartee;

too soon the discharge of graces

as melancholy ends its masquerade.

Unveiled, it seeks to swallow joy

in prelude to an unending cold.

Trickster ©  Linda Straub


Painting Without a Name , reading and music by David Michael Jackson