It feels as though things that were once inspiring
Are hiding behind doors,
In the backs of closets –
Kept in the farthest away corners of people’s minds,
Hidden until they turn to dust.

To the dreary, grey people –
Just because the flowers
Are hidden by the snow,
Doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

Is everyone too busy with their own worries that
They no longer have time to let themselves
Be happy?
Are heavy thoughts the wave of the future?

I want to receive a smile from a stranger,
Just one,
And know that they are
Not worrying about what to cook for dinner,
Or what bills have to be paid…

While the corners of their mouth are turned up towards God,
As if questioning his existence.