Our conscience is confronted by this oddity

Foreign and unsettling

Creeping up on us with no alarms

We are somewhat aware
A drop of joy is never solitary

It clings to us with a baggage of immense sorrow

Yet our souls, they are longing for more

To dance through our flaws, stitch them to be bearable
To unravel the remnants of hope in despair
To be content with this imperfect bond

And at last,
To feel.