"pourpose" poems
Long do I labor
My back turned to the hot bearing sun.
Long do toil
Until my hardened hands crack and blood begins to run.
And in my labor, my heart turns red with the fires of anger.
At the pointless task set before me.
Why, I question do I place myself in such danger.
When it is all plain to see
That my actions do little to sustain me.
My body though young grows weary of these bleary days.
And my youth drains from me as color from a cloth.
I am left weaker at days end than when I started
And I obtain no recompence To cover the cost of all that I have departed
The weight grows greater by the day
And I fear I grow weaker for the effort.
And yet at the time of my departure
When i lay down my toils pick
When I go back to the shack of a home
That i wearily built.
And I open the creaking door to a warm lit home.
And inside I realize that I am not alone.
For within the darkness eyes look back upon me
Small delicate hands reach out to embrace my leg
Happy for my presence, for the comfort that I endure to provide
Let it never be said that my heart were made of stone.
For even I in my loss, in my pain, I go to eagerly divide
What little my toils have to offer, what little the world sees fit to condone.
And when I see the smile they all give
That another day, by my effort they may all live.
I try not to weep, for they thought crosses my mind
That if I were to fall to jealosies grip
What wall would stand firm against he horrors of mankind.
What piller would hold the ceiling above them.
What furnace would give them warmth.
What sword and sheild would protect them from evils men
I am undone by my title
Weakened by my bonds
But for them, my pourpose stays vital
And for them do I treck on the toilers grounds
I will bleed so they will not need to
I will fall such that they may rise
And when it is all said and done and I am called on to
Let it not be not be said that my cross I did not bare.
Let it not be said that my dependants I did not prize
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
The names hide who I really am.
People can't see through them, and sadly they never will.
Names hide our true nature,
And when I see a fimiliar face I throw one up to match.
I don't know why.
I guess I fell my true self would scare people and thats not my pourpose.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
I have my hand on a chain
I am pulled along and the drain is insane
I can't obstain or restrain the pain I feel as I am dragged alond the feild
But I won't let it go, I won't let you steal the way I feel
make a meal of me, and then say it wasn't a big deal
My body is battered and broken, and I am always beholden
I have more to do as my time is always bespoken
The chain is harder and harder to hold on
and way is harder and harder to forge on.
I am tiered and honestly, sometimes I don't feel as if I can go on
But I won't let go
Because i refuse to let the world know
That it has beaten me
I won't let that dept grow nor will I ever slow.
I will meet you blow for blow
from the tides of spring to winters snow
As the acorn falls and the rains do flow
And you will watch that oak tree grow
from a sapling as you and I are grappling
You won't understand what is happening.
You will think that I am a creature of some crazy fantacy.
Why do I go on, I couldn't tell you.
Death just seems more fun if only I knew how to
But this heart of mine just keeps beating
And I just continue living and my hand keeps on gripping
and I will be ****** if I just up and leave it.
I am a molded wreking ball
unhappy unless I am wrecking
For when I am not, I am only a ball
even the wrecking part of my name just falls
And whats the point of being just a ball
For when I was created I was called the wrecking ball
My pourpose is in my duty
My duty is in my pourpose
and whats worse, the course I am on
would be gone without this chain
So how can I complain even when I am in pain
Without this chain I would be plain
I would be a ball detached from the crain.
So go on, and I will hold on
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC