The Search

what is in it
the desire to find meaning
the wishes to find purpose
what if there is none
no reason to live
but only for the principle of having done so
life might end
in a
second
or wander on for a hundred years
a spiral at which we begin on high
only to fall deeper in
or is it we're ascending into what might be
greater than mortal years

a drive down a country back road
to a familiar destination

the sight of a rippling field of sunflowers
on a warm summers afternoon

the scent of Irish Spring soap
lingering far too long on the sleeves of a loved jacket

wisps of smoke floating from lips
laced with echoing "I love you"s

winds darting through fractured car windows
drowning out the sounds of reverberating thoughts

the feel of softened leather
beneath worn hands

tame flames of heat
dancing across pale skin

what is it that it all amounts to
fleeting bits of memory
that snake their way through open palms
like sand through children's hands
escaping like birds
of which cages were left ajar
filed neatly into mental boxes
or thrown about
in an indistinguishable shabble
of incoherent reasoning

what is it then
to live a life
of which we knew when it started
and which we know not the end

something so personal to each individual
yet impersonal to those getting a meer glimpse
through windows clouded with age
with doors sealed with locks of secrecy
and immovable walls of self

why is it we live each day
and greet each morning
with the same soul
as all those before it
generation
after
generation
sunrise to sunset
in a never-ending cycle
of grief
and lose
running forward blindly
seeking grains of sand
on a clouded beach
that might give glimmers of value
to an otherwise sea of nothingness

what is it
to live a life
of which we are blind to the purpose of