PoemsBrowse PoemsSlamsFresh DropEchoes
LearnWriting TipsPoetry TermsPoets & ArtistsBooksFor Teachers
ExplorePoetry GenomePoem MapEchoesTake ActionGroups
AboutWrite a PoemDonateSign UpLog In

Vanity


When will the winds finally reach its destination, what then? Will we ever be satisfied in this world of plenty? What is the end goal? 

We make so much and in the end take nothing at all. Who is responsible for my life and am I responsible for someone else’s ? This chasm that separates man from animal, what is the real difference? We are born just as they are, we live, procreate and are gone. Just they as do. We tremble down on others to survive the systems that govern the globe. We put ourselves above them simply because we can choose our destination. A world full of imbalance is this. Nothing more than this is it? But love. Unique. Heals or kills is this love. Millions are a friend and foe to this love. What makes us special is this love. So, what is the end goal?

©All Rights Reserved

Something wrong with this poem?

Share

Replies are closed for this poem.

Anthony takirua

View all poems →

Your Poem's Voice

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.

Log in to leave a comment.