Life Disconcerting

(Is happiness a choice?  Does it count if you are forcing yourself to be happy?  If you fake it for long enough does it become real?  How do we know who we are?  If you aren't yourself for long enough, does that actually become who you are?  You'd think eventually I'd have an answer or two, but mostly I just have more questions every day...)  


Life Disconcerting 
So zealous for this life, 
yet anxiously troubled 
as though fervent happiness 
must be quelled, 
lest it be overwhelmed by 
restless unease.  
Brimming with idealism, 
concerned by encroaching dejection -- 
life ever bemusing. 
Optimism battles the xanthous fears, 
while joyous elation concedes to 
worries, mindful of disappointment. 
Overwhelming yearning, 
kind and loving, 
resigned to a perplexed quiet. 
Silence.