Often times with absurdly, people ask me,
“What's your purpose in life?”
Like they're clueless about their own.
Yet, for their curiosity,
I tell them, I write. Of course
they would follow up with, one more
Question,
“Write about what?”
That is, a moment of lucidity,
To open the flood gates of my pen and
Mizzle all the water from it
Until earth and heaven are
Wetlands to grow seeds
That can flourish fruits, which
Are soulful for eternity.
I pause for seconds and see
If the waves are still rising,
to make sure with certainty that,
those ****** people
don't sink in my ocean, for
their purpose in life
Is to ask fatuous questions such
As “What's your purpose in life?”
By now, the smoke in
Their heads should be cleared.
I continue…
To empty my last dripping ink and
Tell them...
I write about myself.
I write about living
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 11:11 PM UTC
Often times with absurdly, people ask me,
“What's your purpose in life?”
Like they're clueless about their own.
Yet, for their curiosity,
I tell them, I write. Of course
they would follow up with, one more
Question,
“Write about what?”
That is, a moment of lucidity,
To open the flood gates of my pen and
Mizzle all the water from it
Until earth and heaven are
Wetlands to grow seeds
That can flourish fruits, which
Are soulful for eternity.
I pause for seconds and see
If the waves are still rising,
to make sure with certainty that,
those ****** people
don't sink in my ocean, for
their purpose in life
Is to ask fatuous questions such
As “What's your purpose in life?”
By now, the smoke in
Their heads should be cleared.
I continue…
To empty my last dripping ink and
Tell them...
I write about myself.
I write about living
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