Untitled (For Now) Poem by Adam Pinheiro

I think in all the world we’ve always doubted,
Why—why we were put here, painless, powerless,
And growing brighter in the world of soreness,
Lashed by lies, illudes, bluffs and betrayals.
I think, the question in my heart, like the rest,
Was always my purpose, point, parade,
‘Why was I slammed into this world of woe,
If woe is the one thing I’ll always, ever know.

Love perhaps, the rosy hue on her bare cheek,
Her pallid pale against my haughty hand,
Bashful beauty in this bereft land before time,
This livid land of boy meets girl.
These two, a pair of perfect pals, pariahs,
Land where together, anathemas of the world,
They’re rewarded with each other, together,
But damn, if you think together they’ll stay.

And maybe, perhaps, it’s his friend, my friend,
His struggle to be, what he needs to be,
To aid his futile fatalities, the fights that falter him,
And to help him through his hurtful hailstorm—
Loyal to him in this hell-bent hurricane,
Horrific hindering of his own making,
Standing at his side, offering all that I am,
But at what expense…my own?

Still, perhaps, the muse that mounts my mind,
Inspiring idiots with wisdom’s words,
Feasibly, my cause for care, encouragement,
Stimulating their sense of wonder and awe.
My reign of creativity, carefree cavorting,
Through messy minds and that artist air,
Scratch into them, my words of inspiration,
Perhaps, if they ever paid me that attention..

And though the wayward way my story goes,
I haven’t a clue what purpose will do,
For I haven’t a clue what that purpose will be,
Until purpose comes beeline for me.
But direct, never the course a purpose did pose,
For in my own, my duty to seek and to find,
What it is I will be, what I will seek and strive,
For in my own heart, therein lies my purpose.