The Purpose of Poetry

He reveled in the beauty of his lovers,
Of the marvels of the earth,
The treasures of the universe,
The offspring life birthed.

He saw beauty;
How does one who sees,
Decide to cease
Ambling down paths
Unfolding.

Was the trek so cruel and sick
That he’d simply leave
With reckless abandon.
Was there nothing
That could press him
To maintain cognition.

I don’t know how much he was hurting.

But he could have been lying.

It could have been
The purpose of poetry.

-Sabs-

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