Life’s Purpose Poem by Joseph Cross

Breath is like vapors caught in a storm,
Working so hard to bring them through.
Eyes are on fire without living flame,
Filling with waters that don’t drown heat.
Feet are lead weights tied to a hose,
A non-supporting structure with no use.
Hands are talons of a dead eagle,
Gripping nothing, strengthless and lame.
Mind is a tangle of miserable lies,
Tricks and tales to lead you astray.
Spirit is weakening, a candle that flickers,
Slowly fading until light is no more.
Life has its purpose, a miserable goal,
To take its days and end.