original sadness

There is no difficult way to sadness.
This has always been our open secret
Despite our efforts to cruise and get lost
In this sea of distractions, in someone’s arms,
Or in someone else’s. One day, we would find
Ourselves rooted again on where we had just
Left off. I understand poetry both knows
And doesn’t know why. We, it remains,
Are the only ones who absolutely do.
We believe we do. But when all else fails,
We would search for it, search for words
That would reveal glimpses of paradise,
And we would think of all the comely things
We can say with and without seeing them.
Maybe I simply understood the honey in pain,
Its heirloom tang indelible like promises.