A condition of childhood best reserved to one's own mother When we are grown and all alone it never satisfies To hitch one's wagon to a pair of shooting star-blue eyes We ought not let our happiness depend upon another
It turns out in the end to be a dangerous estate As I have learned as has been burned upon my heart too late And I am left here love bereft now at the end with only wind Between my grasping fingers as I grieve what never was
But if it never was what do I care? I care because It was my sole reality until life could reveal to me The profundity of the falsity of what could never be
I have accepted and embraced being rejected and have faced I must not let my happiness depend upon another A condition of childhood best reserved to one's own mother
+Steven Curtis Lance
Copyright MMV
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Reviews of "Independent Happiness"
Reviewed by D May (Reader)
Reviewed on April 12, 2005
Steven, your truth poors from this page. Loved yourself, always and keep giving your gift of words.
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