All There Is Poem by James Hanlon
All There Is
Your life is a flaunt
In which you invent purpose,
Nice it is to do so,
At least so you say.
The gawp of all
When I dare to stare with derision:
I do not like your purpose;
You scorn at my supposed lack of one.
So much better not to judge
Than to be judged.
To rise to heights without direction
And let beauty make a home there.
That is all,
All there is.
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8/29/2026 7:06:26 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
