The purpose of a Man

By Jas K    Jas K

The birds' jabber and babble,
While perching by the windowsill
The ball of fire high in the sky greeted me with warmth
This was my good morning call
I stretched my old, weak arms as I yawned
An electrifying voice forced me to open my eyes
It was a storm
The storm shouted and wept, "This is the truth"
I blinked rapidly, confused
The sun glanced towards the storm in fear
And the birds hushed each other
The storm howled in pain and started to weep
Wept onto the beautifully painted sky, washing it away
"Behold," the weak storm whispered,"the truth"
The birds cried out, a cry for help, I observe
I comprehend their bruised wings
The sun was angry, showing no other emotion
My heart raced as it hit me,
I was living an illusion
And my purpose was to mend this broken world
I sang to the birds, and they chirped delightfully
They flapped their wings, their pain fading away
I set a flower for the sun to understand,
I am genuinely grateful
As the flower began a garden, the birds soared up high
Authentically, the sun warmed up to me

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This Poems Story

A man finding what he believes to be the purpose of his remaining life