The Question of Purpose

by John Herlihy

I raise the question of purpose,

For what purpose was I born.

Life is not idle but purposeful,

From vast infinity, meaning torn.

From first breath, to life, a soul,

A unique entity from heaven stole.

On a journey across earth, in exile,

Finding purpose thru one’s own style.

A reason why I have come to life,

We speak of hopes, dreams, desires.

We rarely speak of our life’s purpose,

To stir embers of life’s smoldering files.

I know of emptiness and how it feels,

I know of hollowness and what it steals.

Searching for and finding a reason to live,

Drawing from soul depths blessing to give.

Sadness, failure, misery all have their say,

There as raw material to be used as clay.

Shaped with purpose into a work of art,

Striving with purpose life’s beauty to impart.

Purpose in a dark night as starlight shimmers,

Purpose in a silent night as moonlight glimmers.

Purpose that suggests you can achieve anything,

A purpose that say you rightfully belong here.

Happiness comes and goes, purpose is forever,

No one can take it away from me, no, never.

My purpose as inner light to perpetually shine,

My purpose in my one life, forever to be mine.

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Copyright © John Herlihy

Saturday 17 May 2025