Purpose?

By    

Deep within the forest of the mind
lies the monstrous instinct of survival.
Hard to control and fierce.
It picks the brain rapidly,
persistently knocking on the skull.
Some sick game perhaps,
A maze to another life?
We may be puppets of masters in disguise.
Our bodies are now stronger with weakening minds.
We are louder yet silent.
The fear of the unknown causes chaos.
Our beautiful sun rises every day,
yet the world remains in darkness.
Somehow we remain smiling,
covering muddy arrays of doubt clouding the brain.
Was it meant to be this way?
The purpose remains a mystery.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem