Karenina

A pleasure is a pleasure anywhere
But every pain feels local, and specific.
Pain is the nearby lake - lies only there;
The sea of joy is large as the Pacific.
Yet human minds are strange: this very thought
Excuses us deriding joy and pleasure
As being too diffuse to be well-wrought,
And focusing on pain in greater measure.
Like hipsters all, we value only that
Which seems unique and local just to us
While that which is more general falls flat
And is a reason to fidget and fuss.
Therefore a swift solution I suggest:
Reject our inner Tolstoy, for the best.