the search

a futile search for something unattainable

 

the Search

 

I looked for my meaning

on the pages of the Holy Scripture.

Black and white letters,

i read reverently at first,

in hope of finding purpose

in the words of Paul, John, Luke and Matthew.

I have read of creation, destruction,

but my salvation i cannot see.

Soon the black and white print

faded to black.

 

I looked for my meaning

in the solitude of prayer.

Quietly, i was at peace.

But it was not enough.

I hungered for an answer,

but i cannot hear the reply.

It was a conversation where I,

was both the speaker and listener.

I got tired of the charade,

because the silence was deafening.

 

I looked for my meaning

in the acts of goodwill.

For they say when you comfort the destitute,

you will find the face of God.

So I did, hoping to see

what the Book and prayer cannot show me.

But fulfillment was far away, unreachable.

Every face i looked at

was that of a stranger,

nameless and silent.

 

I looked for my meaning

at the butt of every cigar.

I found exhilaration,

a short-lived high,

as i was excited by the swirling silver wisps

that i have created from my mouth.

Inhale and exhale.

But then that was it.

There was no more to it.

Inhale and exhale.

 

I looked for my meaning

at the bottom of every bottle.

As journeyed downwards,

that bottle of poison seeped into me,

and I felt lighter,

a feather riding a draft.

And just like me,

my troubles were flowing away.

But when i reached the bottom, what I saw,

was a cold and empty glass.

 

I looked for my meaning

in my countless lovers' arms.

There was warmth, radiating

unto my skin.

But it was not enough to flow through me.

But it was just enough to get me through one night.

And atop every shoulder,

I saw the same thing: a stranger;

nameless, anonymous,

just an instrument for passing time.

 

I looked for my meaning

and i searched like a mad man.

And like every mad enterprise,

it ended in madness.

I felt like an imbecile,

in this world full of pretentious scholars

who have preached among themselves,

their achievement of what they sought.

Hypocrites, all of them,

because it all seemed futile.

Reviews

[Poeticpiers]

Well written poetic prose A clear message.I agree we must seek for meaning but the purpose of life is to BE no mor no less.Be what we are to the best of our ability not what others would have us be

[Poeticpiers]

Every man walks the same road towards the same destination but every man must find his own way We learn by trial and error