THIS IS OLD YET IT FEELS SO NEW

THIS IS OLD YET IT SEEMS SO NEW.

I often consider the origins of creativity.  Do I write because I need to, have to, want to, or perhaps even love to? Beyond the specific message of each poem surely there is some inherent purpose to the construction of verse. A little like the faithful need scripture, or the scientist needs an equation, perhaps I need a concise amalgamation of what makes me who I am in order to find a semblance of meaning in a modern world that can sometimes seem vapid and disinterested. Yet the problem with that philosophy lies in the nature of meaning itself. To write because we can, or because it matters., To pass the time in a manner than covers us in comfort, compared to poetry that challenges us to the point of making us uncomfortable. What is the point of pretty poetry, pretty art, pretty songs? In my humble opinion, nothing at all. Thinking can sometimes be the enemy but surely not thinking is much worse. With out the questions there is no art, there is no poetry, and without poetry there is only reason, and if we live in a world of pure reason, we loose our humanity. So for now I will fool myself with poetry And hope for the hidden meaning that truth can uncover. I only hope Logic and its inescapable truth has a place for our uncertainties,  for our poetry, for our faults.