Purpose Poem by Patrick Dennis

1.

It fails me:
somewhere between the setting forth and the night camp
fatigue and despair graph my end.
I am tired and lost
and the distant charm of camp and stars
is the backdrop of nightmare.

Sweet oblivion! Cut short my path
since purpose exceeds my strength.

2.

Beyond oblivion lies awake
the still, distant charm of camp and stars.
I rise and walk, therefore, goal-purpose driven
numb to the dewy grass and the sleet wind.

3.

For sometimes in the morning
the sun's rays shine palpable silver through the trees;
and, late afternoon, when the slanted gold
distills the quintessence of bush colours
great flocks of cockatoos descend on the bare claypans
in a hunger-crazed ecstasy for scarce food.