What if Joy could speak?

People chase me like I’m a
dream that fades at dawn,
filling carts and closets,
believing joy wears price tags.

They work, they hoard, they boast, they sigh.
Yet deep down, they believe I’m hiding.

People say,
“Joy, why do you make it so hard?”

And I laugh,
because I am as easy as Love,
standing in the open while you search in the dark.

Joy was never meant to be the prize at the end.
It’s the flashlight in your hand as you walk through the dark.

I am the light in your eyes when you finally see Jesus.