Number One

As I sit here writing my first poem

Ok sure I have written them before

I have written poems for school and projects

The ones you write to make them rhyme with every line

Because you think that making line rhyme with dime sounds cool

Even when it adds no sustenance to the poem

Sure I have written poems before, the type that are strewn across adolescent bedrooms at my vain attempt to write a rap,

yes a rap, and that was after I realized that I could not sing let alone rap as I have no rhythm.

No, what this is, is my first real poem

My first poem of meaning,

or as my friend says a poem of purpose

Because purpose is all that we have in life to make our lives worthwhile

Purpose is the glimmering light in the darkness that is sometimes life,

it is the star shining for our very existence, urging us to carry on.

Without purpose we are but newspaper tossed to the wind

A bundle of information with no direct, nobody to read us and make us important

I find this funny, because as I lay here in bed, I smile at how at this precise moment

I have no idea, no inkling where to go, what to do – I am that newspaper lost in the wind

And yet I know that whatever I am to do I must be purposeful

I must, I must be important

Because without that I am nothing

And so as I take a breath to contemplate I guess that is why I am writing this down,

Or maybe it is because of my discovery of Andrea Gibson

Or maybe, just maybe I have to get this off my chest, off of my heart and out of my head

Or oh here comes a good one, maybe I just want people to hear me

To hear what I am saying and to think

Even only for a moment to think about their own lives or mine or hell even the world and to decide,

does it have purpose?

And if not, then maybe just maybe it is time to make a change.