Purpose in the Nothing
Days on end repeat themselves,
Morning, noon, and night.
It’s nothing to get a cup of milk or
To leave on the hall light.
Stacks and stacks of building blocks
Strewn about the floor.
It’s nothing still to pick them up,
Like so many times before.
And then there is the soothing touch
Or word that brings new light.
To a hurting, anxious, growing child
Who simply does not like the night.
Cooking, shopping, bills to pay,
Folding clothes forever it seems.
The rain and snow keeps seasoning by,
But dormant lie my dreams.
Pointless, dull, routine, the same.
My soul withers to empty.
Only a tiny, hoping flicker remains
In the tomb my heart surrenders.
A voice in the dark rings true and bold,
‘You have no need to wonder.
Don’t you know you carried my name
Each time you fed the hunger?
And when the pain of an injured hand
Filled their eyes with tears.
You touched the wounds with healing balm.
You brought heaven near.
Tasks that had to be done,
Routine is your daily fight.
It has become a root system of dependency
From which seedlings can take flight.
It’s all in the thought of things
And know that it is ‘something’
You are my vessel of bonds unconditional
When you find purpose in the nothing’.
