Orbler
Byron Twain
Brenton
Dexter
Jeanne Dininni
Shilpa KarhikWhat is Life by John Clare
July 26th 2008 06:23
What Is Life?
by John Clare
by John Clare
Poet John Clare
And what is Life? An hour-glass on the run,
A mist retreating from the morning sun,
A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream.
Its length? A minute's pause, a moment's thought.
And Happiness? A bubble on the stream,
That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought.
And what is Hope? The puffing gale of morn,
That of its charms divests the dewy lawn,
And robs each flow'ret of its gem—and dies;
A cobweb, hiding disappointment's thorn,
Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise.
And what is Death? Is still the cause unfound?
That dark mysterious name of horrid sound?
A long and lingering sleep the weary crave.
And Peace? Where can its happiness abound?
Nowhere at all, save heaven and the grave.
Then what is Life? When stripped of its disguise,
A thing to be desired it cannot be;
Since everything that meets our foolish eyes
Gives proof sufficient of its vanity.
'Tis but a trial all must undergo,
To teach unthankful mortals how to prize
That happiness vain man's denied to know,
Until he's called to claim it in the skies.
Review in poem by Dexter
Seeking answers, questioning reality,
To find meaning in existence.
Self knowledge and personal freedoms,
Tools to acquire the luxury of subjective truths.
Dare to capture a dream,
Treasure the journey towards goals.
Perhaps relationships with family and friends,
Helping others to conquer challenges.
The conclusions are as varied as the faces on the earth,
The processing minds rewarding psyche.
Are we just animals destined to die,
Or is there a purpose to be completed by all?
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