There's More To Life Than This
There’s More to Life Than This
Oh, world, you are so busy!
So full of things to do
It really makes me dizzy
To rush around in you.
Like some vast carnival ride
You spin and toss and soar
My heart is flipping inside
And all I want is more.
But when I disembark from
The twisting, hurtling game
I try to find a new home
And try to make my name.
There’s something all about this
Which clings inside my breast
I must go back and not miss
The rides! I can’t resist.
So weary with vain trying
I get busy again.
I hope that with this vying
I’ll have oblivion;
Peace from this soft, small voice
Which calls me from my bliss.
Which with a word gives choice:
“There’s more to life than this.”
“What more to life can there be?”
I challenge with a cry.
The small voice answers softly:
“The more of when you try.”
“I’m sick and tired of trying!”
I exclaim midst the noise
Of all the world’s fay lying
And all it’s gleaming toys.
I tried one day and falling hard
Longed only for an ease
To free me from my own heart
And all her vain duties.
This rushing gives me purpose!
“How dare you scorn my game!”
I say, and whisk away lest
The voice should speak again.
Yet always these rides must
Bring me back to the place;
The stopping-post of time’s rush;
The beginning of the race.
And there, still waiting for me
The still small whisper saith:
“This freedom is not truly free.”
With sweet and truthful breath.
I cannot help but falter
And wonder if there’s more
Than all this world’s vain clatter;
I’ve heard it all before.
“If this is not true freedom
And life has more in store,
How can I then be free from
This game to find the more?”
I ask and wait in silence
The carnival’s begun
I worry lest in this chance
I miss out on the fun.
The music calls me gaily
Alluring every song,
I feel the struggle vainly
And know I can’t last long.
“Listen now, dear child,”
The still, small whispers says,
“Your heart has been defiled
By what the world calls bliss.
Simple is freedom’s road
Though harder than ‘tis to say
If you’d be freed your load
Get up and walk away.”
“Is that it?” I question softly
Daring not believe my ears.
Can the way be so simple
Yet I’ve missed it for years?
The rides are moving under me
A desperate break I make
And tearing loose, I’m free!
But one moment I take.
One moment and the fever,
Excitement of my lust,
Fades all away, and pleasure
Is born out of the dust.
I take one slow step forward
And trying to be brave
The still small voice urges onward:
“You’re stepping from the grave.”
For freedom’s not in pleasure
And toys are not your life.
Get out and taste the fervor
Of long and bitter strife.
Our lives were made for doing
And in the deed is bliss.
Be brave, and always striving
For:
“There’s more to life than this.”
1 people are talking about this
The story that this poem tells is breathtakingly amazing, and I adore your use of imagery and rhythm!!! :DDD Amazing as always!
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