Meaning of Life Poem by David Michael Jackson


So I said to myself

Where is this leading

this living

this being

where is this leading I asked in a moment

of weakness

in a moment of pure futility

maybe the only pure thing I’ve



as pure and as cold as the

mountain stream this futility

and I have made me a home in it

a warm home with a


where I can burn my moments

and watch the smoke rise up from them

to heaven.


Posted in art music poetry, David Michael Jackson, Poetry Posts, Resident Poets