Last Breath Leaves

“What is the meaning of life?”
A teacher asked of me
In one of my vivid dreams.
 
I cannot recall how I answered
Though every other wacky scene
Of that dream is in my memory.
 
My answer had gone up in smoke
But it made me wonder
If the meaning of life, its purpose
 
Is hidden in our subconscious.
An answer secret even to us
But it tells us what is right
 
The meaning of life is ambiguous
different and the same
For every living soul.
 
Our everyday journey
Through chaos and sanity
Is the road to that elusive answer.
 
I believe it can only be known
When one knocks on Death’s door
And sees the purpose of their life
 
Just as their last breath leaves.

August 2017

It was a big day
But in a little way.
The end of my two weeks
Which was less than bleak.
I left that job
Feeling more than just a glob.
Unsure of what lay ahead
Yet I was not filled with dread.
Instead I felt hope anew
My footsteps led me far and true.
I stumbled upon my purpose,
And it was time to get down to business.
 
I had had a dream,
Filled with danger and fun.
I told my husband, my mother,
And they were quite stunned.
It spun into an idea
A book written by me,
In which a girl named Vivian
Fought hard just to be free.
 
I am still on that adventure,
Editting, revising Vivian’s tale.
It consumed me through and through,
And I refuse to fail.

To This Writer

Why I keep writing

 

It gives purpose.

It builds a home.

It joins lives.

It allows for calm, peace.

 

It fills a void.

It answers a call.

It sparks life.

It sedates anger, fear.

 

It adds to the light.

It takes from the dark.

It mediates experiences.

It awakens love, hope.

 

It is medicine.

It comforts the breaking.

It builds the broken.

It breaths help, justice.

 

It takes time.

It ages and dies.

It is born again and again.

It thinks on life, death.