Does this paper see through my eyes,
Like I do, its own purpose in my life.
The way the smallest stone on a mountain-top,
May think itself greater than rocks below.
Greatness is often too far for us to perceive,
There is little to appreciate on the long path,
Or realisation of our importance to make it be.
And with the last lullaby lingering at the end.
When someone is so lost, it can be hard to see.
Do we live with that in mind, dreams undreamt,
Or go on simply because we're told we are loved.
Because part of me wishes to believe that one-day,
When tired and about to give up. With nothing left,
The curtains will draw, the clouds will finally part
And that, then, life's purpose will be revealed to me.
