My happiness is of a different kind.
oh, my heart sings -
This much is true,
But it sings to a different song,
to a different tune.
My happiness is of a different kind.

A whisper of water over rose-colored stones,
A curve of road ‘neath a star-filled sky,
The wind as it soughs through the trees
by the curve on the road -
as old as time itself.
My happiness is of a different kind.

A phrase in a book,
a lift of the clarinet,
a string of notes that seem to melt the air into liquid soul,
a glint of gold in a lover’s hair.
My happiness is of a different kind.

Oh, my heart sings -
but to the tune of poesie,
to the whirl of the Solar Angel,
to the whisper of the Presence I can only know on the other side of cosmic.
My happiness is of a different kind.

 My heart may sing,
but my mind it does soar.
It soars to the heights of things unseen,
to things unheard,
to loves untouched -
and touched again this time around.
My happiness is of a different kind.

 My happiness is of a different kind,
of a time not yet come,
but I will see the dawn break
upon wave upon wave
of this exalted perfection -
the wings of the idea -
the harp stroke of the vision -
vibrating just out of grasp,

leading us on to that lovely
dark night under the stars of intellect, the unknown,
the unimagined, the only imagined,
the not-yet-experienced,
the purity of the moment the idea becomes known.
My happiness is of a different kind.

 4/14/2002