Spirit of purpose: A poem 

My hopes like bodies on fire 

lost to the world; but inspire 

communion with the abstract; like a sky 

that dies its death, presuming sunrise 

A phoenix is a myth that survives 

like a ghost, in imagination, what courage revives 

And a life is not wasted; even if unsuccessful 

Its story is a legacy for the soulful 

It is not only stars the resourceful count, at night 

But the hidden galaxies where purpose takes flight 

In them, we float bodiless, yet embodied 

With pearls of magic devotion, that wisdom construed 

This is not a flightless gravity of circumstance, 

nor a tragedy of follies that beset every instance 

In the warrior, is a spirit of purpose that is oblivious of distance 

Even time becomes a finite measurable circumference