The Purpose For Living
I came out of our mother's womb
crying, attesting to the grimness of the tomb;
and taking this journey through the unknown,
I realize how much I have grown.
With deep curiosity and longing, I am bound to discover
the purpose for living either in happiness or grief;
there'll never be complete joy, and with this belief
I praise this very existence and the need to go farther.
I have hung on drudgery, increasing anxiety all the while
and toiling away, nothing has rewarded me with any glory;
I hovered to the side to catch glimpses of folks looking happy:
laughing and showing their glitz in diamonds with elite style.
Is there another courageous man standing on the slipping edge
forced to choose life or death? What's my chance at happiness:
failure or success? It all depends on the moods and choices;
what do I ask for besides well-being and peace to subdue rage?
With eagerness I delve in those dark depths of the distant cosmos,
wishing to know the obscure mysteries hidden in the fixed stars...
the ones that control fate and abound with astrological signs;
shouldn't I settle for the things that delight and offer simple joys?
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
