Purpose poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of purpose poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on purpose are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Sometimes souls are inspired Sometimes souls are broken Sometimes souls have goals Sometimes souls be laissez-faire Is there really a purpose for the existence of a soul? My soul contemplated. First there was nothing when the soul was personified in
What’s the point? To life I mean. Here, we find ourselves following The crowd. Doing as those who came before. Why? Did they know something, anything, about anything? Mindless lemmings are we? Are we building something? We’re born, we live,
Living with purpose, loving with intent, Meaning what you say and saying what you meant, Believing in yourself when others disbelieve, Keeping your eyes open when the others cannot see. Hoping when you’re hopeless, hoping with your heart, Finding your
The sweetest song has yet to be sung The best sermon has not been preached The greatest speech has not been spoken The loudest noise has not been heard The highest praise has not been raised The prettiest sights have
“I AM GOD’S CREATION – A SOUL” Can anyone tell, “Who am I?” What am I doing on this Mother Earth? I wish, someone could answer this question of mine! Can anyone tell, “where did I spring from?” And for
Have you wandered off the beaten path and blamed someone other than yourself? Or could it be that you never walked the path of others, because you were alone and left. Did someone hurt you when you ran from the
A life, lives, many lives – millions struggle. Liars to the left and right of them, in front of them and in back of them, beneath and on top. Everyone dismayed; like those before them none can make a reply.
There is a fabric being woven, good and true A fabric that is added to, in every day, anew A tissue made of sacrifice, of hopefulness and love Each stitch a confirmation of a trust in things above Sometimes we
An accountant, businessman, psychologist, or teacher? Great challenging and responsible endeavors, but for who? What was God thinking when he made you? A doctor, lawyer, Janitor, engineer, or carpenter? All good and noble professions, but for who? What was God
My thoughts of which I let known Were nothing to me all left alone Some slipt away while others pondered In which mostly all were left squandered Or maybe it’s just a hobby of mine To throw a few words
When given a deep thought a certain realization hovered over my head. …truly everything happens for a reason, a reason that sometimes may be an unknown illusion, sometimes the things we curse and at times something that overwhelms us to
possessions are thé fruits that grow on a tree called relevance although arguably less striking than the beautiful tree that produces them this fruit continues to increase in popularity now mostly produced over seas and shipped in vast quantity too
Now that my mother, father and siblings have passed. Yes passed, a dainty word saying, dead, gone, either up in the sky, or down in the ground. At last I have said the words, dead, died, death, leaving me bereft.
life without literature, is like life without meaning, like a jellyfish with no sting, like a lion that can’t roar, like a frog that can’t leap, like a wolf without instinct, like a snake without venom, like a falcon without
Let’s take a walk Just you and me and none of our goddamn pretensions None of the constant editing of words and phrases in our daily interactions Let’s say things as they come to mind Hell, let’s just not say
Your day starts with the Sunrise- Your day ends with the Sunset. Your dreams and hopes start by birth, And end in the grave yard. Days, Weeks, Months and Years- Pass swiftly- swiftly -by Your dreams and hopes increase day
I stare at the bride demure and dainty in her virginal veil. Lift my eyes a little to see her shed her modesty. Lusciously coquettish , an exotic eroticism as she sways to the rhythm of a wild vernal beat.
Leaves blown asunder Like images from a dream. Rushing to journeys end In life’s endless stream. Undercurrents swirling Dark as a cloudy day Smooth as silk above Warmed by the morning ray. There comes a meander, a bend In life’s
I was fed up of school for wearing uniforms and me eking out punishments from teachers I was dreaming of college life which I thought would be like a bird freely flying into the clouds and repented for being still
Far away from mankind and society, far I wandered. Through bleak plains and screeching drums, Dragging along my body, weary from the residues of development, My eyes are sore from enduring all this mortal architecture that’s slowly diminishing in my rear
As usual, the stars, way out there in the distant sky, will probably be out tonight. If it should become cloudy and foggy, they might become hidden from sight. Otherwise, they will appear and fulfill their God given purpose, by
Fallen men the perpetrators of unspeakable crimes are doomed to suffer in silence behind the bars of infinity even as fate creates a mirage of redemption they are fooled to believe that they can embody a mortal lead a full
A thought so perturbing that questions our state of being what is the purpose of this life and living? too short a time and the doubts unending this countdown in sync with our birth sooner demystified the better it is
Ghosts dance dark in hallowed places, see them wear familiar faces? With their art my calmness chases and I can quit them not at all. Whirling to some music haunted, dancing while my mind is taunted I bolster but they
Hello there! I see you’re sad, What?! Why are you making a big deal out of irrelevancy?! Yeah, You been called ugly, so what?! I’ve lost count the number of times I have been called ugly. Don’t let it getting
When the milky-way smiles on the sky, And the crazy night birds glide and fly, The white night flowers when sing and dance, The corner in roses is a cradle of romance, Stars on sky play hide and seek, The
For those who live in that moment All life is strange. The breeze and wind whispers – New message and mellifluous music, as All flowers are unique with life purpose of their own. The morning chill,breaking sky hues, Fresh dews,
A rock within a shell encased, lifeless and stilled. Heavier than most, despite the wear and attrition. Stone, cold and caged within. Deliberately chilled. Once, in another’s hand, cast aside like spent ammunition. Collaterally damaged, withdrawn from further crusade. Surrendered,
Dull, dark, dank and desolate, Standing amidst the crowd of all things ignored. It mulls over the utter uselessness of being bestowed, Upon the creatures that so nonchalantly wave it off. What purpose does it serve, what fortune does it
San Francisco Skyline Trembles and quakes with pinpricks of light, Throbbing multi-million galaxies of secret lives Ebbing and absorbing one another in the crisp California night Speeding towards the Mission in a rust bucket, Old Haggard hearse of jovial youth
There are times where I question my existence Times where my purpose on this earth is vague Times where I feel lonely and worthless Times where I feel like I haven’t achieved enough But every time I wake up, I