Pot of bliss

I moved my pot of bliss
further, further, away
so it could grow and prosper
isolated from dis-ease.

I fussed and fretted anxiously
as I’m prone to do
and nourished from a distance
with innate energy.

It didn’t work; the bliss has died
and the pot no longer shines
out there beneath a fulsome tree
meant to protect the feel.

But trees aren’t me; they cannot be
concerned with potted bliss
when busy sinking roots
into impermanence.

And once bliss disowned
it’s like a jilted lover
standing firm in its avowals
of no second chances.

It’s all a challenge right or wrong
this cajoling, begging, pleading,
when I could simply pick it up
and bring it back inside ~
but there are no muscles now
to uplift and reinstate.

And the moral of the story ~

when bliss has grown don’t let it go!