Purpose

Purpose

A Poem by Fin Buckley
"

We are the gifts that give long after the giving is done.

"

Can you love something enough to enjoy its death? To believe in it so wholeheartedly that its emaciated corpse is still enthralling?


To gaze upon it and see that in a sense it is so full, even when it’s empty. Like a water balloon, body overflowing with liquid, bloated skin and muscles, everything cascading out and out and out, but never ceasing to pour.


As if the body itself is a water source; touched with a rod and gifted with the blessing to cure a thousand parched mouths, a waterfall hidden behind pale lips. Rain granting the earth a new chance of survival behind shuttered eyelids, long eroded into darkened trenches.


The soul has left but the body keeps giving; fed to the hungry animals in the woods, entangled in the blades of grass and touches of soil, bones crafted into tools by the wary creatures who find these pearly yet sturdy sticks.


Yes, the soul has left, but that does not mean the purpose has left, too.

© 2017 Fin Buckley


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Added on June 6, 2017
Last Updated on June 6, 2017
Tags: poem, ?, prose, ??

Author

Fin Buckley
Fin Buckley

About
I simply enjoy writing. Let the littlest things inspire you, and let that inspiration run wild. You will find yourself making a lot of art when you do. more..

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