The Color of Happiness

The color of happiness is white,
Or so I choose to believe,
It matters not the stains of red safranin,
Nor the rush of real blood spilling,
Nor the bile, nor the sweet, heavy scent of glycerol.

What matters is the weight it holds,
Sometimes by trembling hands,
Through a running nose and stolen sleep,
Behind bloodshot eyes and burning fevers,
Amidst the fray of untied knots
The responsibility remains,
As the pulse of pure passion.

The color of happiness is white,
At least for me, and for the ones
Who share these heavy hopes and dreams,
Chasing the calling to heal them all.