Our life on Earth, this time,
A constant mystery, in the mind,
Many confusing changes, some obvious signs,
A life of work and searching, not knowing what you may find.

Always new rules from others, to follow, we are told,
As we seek to find our purpose, to explore our inner soul,
Living on dreams & wishes, many can come true, others forever we hold,
Most people, care, kind with a warm heart, more attention to a few, devious and cold.

People come into our life, at the exact time as we do others, to help and teach, at any age,
Everyone grows, and seeks changes, for another mission, many friendships, will slowly fade,
For, each of us have a special purpose inside, to share, before our birth, plans were made,
A  soul mate from the past, love at first site, inner spirits, you will connect, in a special way.



The original Tom Maxwell © 06/19/2025 AD

Would a board game without a goal
Still be one you'd consider playing
That seems to be the reality of existence
Obliviously wandering in hopes of purpose
Without any evidence of its confirmation
Then who's to say which path is truly right
When the destination is the same on both ends

Getting lost, and living solely for achievements, is no way to live.
What is next on the list of things to achieve?
Will it ever be enough?

-Rhia Clay

Searched on every summit for lost elusive cures,
And for the alchemy.to make me feel I was pure.
I've violently torn through all that I am,
Begging every deity I’ve known for their hand.

There is no guidance.

What if healing doesn't surface, Cries muffled under sand.
A doctrine for the hopeful who will never understand.
My wounds still hold the daggers, unremoved.
What if pain protects the heart because it'll never be renewed?

There is no feeling.

Singing broken hymns inspires a hymn of praise.
Unspoken laws, maybe I'm an example being made.
I’m never broken; I can only wish to break with time.
I remain a quantum sonnet stripped of any rhyme.

There is no harmony.

Maybe there is grace that lives within a wilted plea.
In knowing, I’m exactly who I knew I’d always be.
A life pulling chains tethered to a hopeless mind.
What’s left within a soul, to see its purpose held divine.

There's nothing to believe.

Without residue of ash, from embers glow,
Haunted by the echoes, that have turned hearts to stone.
Our cold sweat of empathy for fellow misbegotten.
Stitched into the nerves of a body that is rotting.

There's nothing to see.

I cannot find belief in me for false restoration.
No longer a seeking of a hollowed-out salvation.
I walk with aching fractures to a rapture born in rust.
A fate I feel deep in my core, that all is made of dust.

There's no eternity.

What’s the meaning to the riddles I weave?
Is there truth in what remains, or is truth in what will leave?
As I stand, a withered body without a single plea.
I am all I ever was, all I know I'll ever be.

There's nothing to be.