In skies of azure, the blue bird sings,
A melody of joy, of endless springs,
Yet every note’s a lie, a fleeting tease,
While real life wrestles in the storm’s cold breeze.
The world insists that happiness is gold,
A constant, gleaming tale that must be told,
But as we chase that bird through winds of strife,
We stumble over shadows of our life.
The glossy ads and smiles that never fade,
Conceal the scars and struggles that we wade,
For every chirp and tweet, a cruel disguise,
A fleeting echo in the darkened skies.
So here’s to life in all its gritty truth,
To days of joy, but also days of ruth,
Forget the blue bird’s song and its sweet lies—
Embrace the mess, the tears, the real, raw skies.
Chasing the blue bird of happiness? More like stumbling through the rain and finding a rainbow—because sometimes, the mess is where the magic happens.
Related: Reasons to Give the World the Finger
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