Finding purpose
Is like scavenging the earth for precious stones,
You will not always know that everything that shines amidst the dirt
Might just not
Be Gold,
Nor the pursuit- worth it.
You will learn on your feet.
Learn to kick the ball swaddled with plastic bags like a roll of yarn
And hope for the best.
Child of corn,
You watch your father draw in his yield of fish from the delta,
Dragging his canoe ashore
And understand the tragic import behind an honest living
But of course you want more than that
You scour about the sands only to find nothing but old rocks
And parched cactus whose burnt-up hands raised towards the sky like a
Nomad amidst worship
Praying to the raging sun that it
Takes it slow
The thorns in your feet, the dust on your clothes
You are nothing but a lost boat caught in the thoughts of a brooding ocean.
Don’t you wish you could just want and get?
You know that tomorrow lies another given.
This world is not yours yet, child, however
What’s not to believe in?
