What is the point of life,
A wise, unhappy man opined,
Hurdles deter at every strife,
The will to survive the daily grind,
Tireless, our existence crawls,
Nearing its eventual destiny,
To the ground, when time stalls,
Would raze our fruitless mutiny,
Things we hope to leave behind,
Seldom stand the test of time,
Ashes and dust merely do remind,
The living, of an uneasy, dreary rhyme,
War and peace and love and tumult,
Are mere distractions for the soul,
The cards that we are often dealt,
A game that cries instantly foul,
Oh Wise One! Said the poet he,
Do hear my penny's worth,
Through my eyes for a moment see,
The world I do put forth,
The quest for the bigger picture leaves,
The best of us in pain,
But for the man who still believes,
There's a world in each refrain,
The mounds of dust thou often see,
Are my fanciest memories,
That float the vacuous realm free,
My whims and my little vanities,
A moment's heat, a second's smile,
A gentle touch, a dainty tease,
A harmless wink, a lover's guile,
An hour's war, a minute's peace,
And the air that I shall breathe,
A testament to my existence,
And the ground I tread beneath,
And marks I leave of penitence,
Odes to her grace and form I write,
In the hope that someday far away,
My verse would flatter and delight,
Her, in pages carelessly cast away,
Oh Wise One! Do you now see,
The world I paint, My canvas bright,
To live in moments or merely flee,
Is one's own choice, is one's own right,
You tell your stories woebegone,
I spin a beautiful yarn,
Together from us a life is born,
Dusk and night and day and dawn!
About the Author
Comments