Life, That Is

What's the point of it?

Where does it lead to

- life, that is?

We're born with a scream,

and we die with a sigh

- and then what?

Well, that's too much for words to catch

- way too much.

But what should we do with the time we have here?

What to make of life?

What kind of feat

would be sure to make it worth our while?

A deed, praised by all,

which will last as long as the world

- at least!

Is there a quest,

a path meant for each of us born,

a goal we must reach,

a prize we must seek,

for our time on this globe to count at all?

It might be just us.

Games played with our heads, by our minds.

For sure, they play with us.

They trick us, and kick us,

and show us as fools,

torn to the bones.

Yet, it might be more,

more than our minds.

Some plan for it all.

Well, I've spent more than half of my life

- way more -

and still have no clue in sight.

Don't tell me: Love!

It's a flame

that will burn all its fuel and be gone.

Don't say: Kids!

They come and they go,

and then theirs, who knows where?

Don't say: God!

It's a name,

just a name for the stuff we don't know.

Me, I spend my gold on wine and smoke,

I read some books, I play with words.

I hug a friend, and kiss a dream.

Now and then, I have some fun.

Now and then I don't.

In some way, by the end of the day,

it's all the same to me.

I have this hunch:

I will find what I should have done,

at the very time

when there's no time to do any more.

My "Syllable Poems" are written exclusively with one-syllable words, which is not that hard in the English language. All the words of fundamental importance to a poet have just one syllable.
Here's my Youtube account, if you prefer going there:
Aravadia.

Stefan Stenudd