2.17. The Purpose of A Life

Fingers across the sky

Ten paintbrushes designed to nurture dreams.

Fingers digging in the dirt

Ten shovels to clear your path…

The path to get you there.

Kiss the wind and taste the air

in which aspirations bloom from seedlings of hope.

A mother is your river.

One that flows for you, ethereal child.

This heart of mine is yours.

I breathe, solely, for you.

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One comment on “2.17. The Purpose of A Life

  1. Pingback: options. « Sick with Poetry.

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