Disillusion

I touch joy and it crumbles under my fingers —

The dust from it rises and fills the world,

It blinds my eyes — I cannot see the sun.

A choking fog of dust shuts me apart.

I remember the sparkling wind on a bright autumn morning,

I let down my hair and danced in the golden gale,

Then chased the wind as the wind chased fallen leaves —

Wind cannot be caught and tamed like a bird.

I touch joy and it crumbles to dust in my fingers.