Purpose
No matter our struggles, our toils;
One day the wind will carry our dust
carelessly across windblown fields.
Why worry, why put so much meaning
Into things that do not matter.
Really, what are we masters at,
Certainly, it is not living.
The reason for all this, don't you worry.
In our own silent dispair we search for reason,
maybe it is in dying, letting go.
Copyright © Paul E. Lake | Year Posted 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment