Life and its constant vicissitudes are hailed.
Aboard, we journey all in privation and mindless hassles,
Seeking but only one taste; a quick nibble of euphoria,
In whichever flavor it is offered, euphoria it is.
Euphoria it is then, a therapeutic bath
It serenades you with repose
And stroke your body and soul with subtle volts.
It is a sweet music, killing and reviving the mind in a moment.
A carnival within? Euphoria it is.
Slow rumbling throbs and a couple titters.
Flickering blinding lights and blinding blackness: all at once.
A strange and always a waning hum, steadily:
You believe you can rekindle it. But it is gone.
Euphoria as it is, is a modest piece; a simple peace.
If found, then it should be treasured.
It is rising mist; it can never be owned.
Euphoria as it is cannot be foretold.
A poem by Tonny Wandella