Sparkatale

I am a spanner in God’s holy toolbox He calls upon me when his lofty beings are in distress and I serve my purpose

Cry on these shoulder, lay the weight of your problems on this back, these legs are your chariot, Mind your wastebasket

Your needs are met and I am placed in the divine box next to a sobbing hammer that was used to nail a cabinet in the name of justice

But there is a flaw in my design, like a robot with evolving feelings

I have a sense of infinite purpose, majesty beyond my comprehension – yet I dare to comprehend

I revel in your joy this satisfaction being my compensation while your sadness turns me brown – suffering an emotional bolt too large for my size

So now the melancholy hinders me from my job – I stand on the edge of the abyss contemplating self – rust

If purpose is life then how does my life end? I am stamped with The Halo – a brand bestowing immortality or can I simply change my occupation post retirement

What if our only purpose on earth was to be a light for others?