Hidden Wonders

Purpose of Life

In the forge of days, beneath time's steady hand,

Where whispers wind through the ancient sands,

Life is like a tapestry, rich and grand,

Threaded with more hues than a mind can stand.

Not to live with abandon, nor to embrace mere joy,

But in the race, the grueling chase.

To plan for storms that may arrive, 

In this alone, we're told, we thrive.

To be pessimistic, not naively glad,

Seeing karma hunt the bad. 

Anticipating every fall, 

Within the shadows, standing tall.

Life urges not our hearts to mend, 

But rather brace for hurt to fend. 

Suffering as the truest path, 

Through brambles sharp and tempest's wrath.

To fight for all our heart's desire, 

In fervent flames of ceaseless fire. 

To seize, to claim, to never yield, 

In life's vast, contested field.

And treat each soul distinctly so, 

Adjusting scales where judgments go. 

No blanket kindness, clear and bright, 

But personal views that feel "just right."

In critique, not praise, we find our aim, 

To point out flaws, to place the blame. 

A cycle sharp of endless views, 

Where improvement's chase we cannot lose.

Not open arms but wary eyes, 

Assessing motives, sifting lies. 

With guarded heart and girded soul, 

We analyze each approaching role.

Not to be carefree, whims or chance, 

But plotting life like a tight-laid dance. 

A strategist on life's vast stage, 

A scriptwriter on every page.

And there's no room for those who fail 

To match our set, ambitious scale. 

Exclude, dismiss, let none detract 

From the elite with whom we pact.

Withdraw from those whose sincerity lacks, 

From shallow smiles and brittle pacts. 

In isolation find the space 

To meet one's self, face to face.

Hard work, not celebration's song, 

Defines our days, both short and long. 

In heavy circumstances, where joy recedes, 

Replaced by ever-growing needs.

So spins the world, or so it seems, 

In this dark weave of life's extremes. 

Yet whispers linger in the air, 

Of different paths, if we but dare.