Walking though the forest
Rain slowly,gently falling
Where was his place in life
he wondered
And did he have a calling.
With many years behind him
And, with luck a few more ahead
He'd realize his dream
Well before he was dead.
What did he want from life
Trying to figure out what he
wanted to do
But he didn't have an idea
He didn't have a clue.
Did he want to paint
Or maybe even write
He wanted some meaning, purpose
Nothing foolish nor trite.
He sat on his front porch
Back and forth on the swing
Waiting, just waiting
For what the day would bring.
He read the newspaper
With all the trouble and strife
Which caused him to wonder more
About the purpose and meaning of
his life.
Maybe he would travel
Set his soul free
Finally becoming the person
That he knew he could be.
Here he sat
Feeling very much alone
Maybe talk to someone
So tired of being on his own.
(c)2008 T.La Fountain