The Purpose

What do I feed this pulsating emptiness inside.

The pleasure so alluring and primal?

Slipping into a plunge, which never ceases to be intoxicating.

As the stream dies up, and oh it will.

Underlying chasm, it is cold and dark.

Or is it love? Capable of kneading even unsavory souls together.

Culmination of perhaps the lives,

Ever been so subtle souls closely knit,

Dyed in manifold emotions.

Joy, sorrow, lust and much more;

Would’ve healed them too.

Had the hearts have not gone so selfish.

Saplings untended have grown and

There are woods so thick and sturdy.

It is twilight, the diminishing warmth

Caresses my chin and moves further up.

I am scared of a place unknown,

When I have not even tried in a world so small.

Just as the cold night took the stage,

Never thought that a pair of twinkling eyes,

Folded gaunt hands and a smile so pure,

Could put me at ease.

Too late, but it is too late though.