What do we call poetry these days?
Words that speak our mind, our words that our mind speaks off,
I really don't know if that made sense,
I hope it did,
I don't believe poems have to ryhme, or feel, or anything,
A poem is a poem in the way it is,
Just like we are who we are in the way we are,
Does that make sense?
I hope not because it scares me,
Who are we?
Nothing, but faded souls illuminated on the false light of hope, roaming this empty earth, sometimes stumbling upon demons, or angels, or neither.
Do we have a reason?
I believe our reason is death, there is no higher calling, or bigger things, there's death,
It's the bitter truth we refuse to swallow, and for those who accept it, all they do is pray for death,
I really don't know what drove me to write this, to this point, after all that, I still have no end in mind,
I just felt like putting words out, hoping if I do, it'll be easier to make sense of it all,
Make sense of all of it, even though I'm not really sure what al of it is,
All I know is it's a Wednesday, and I woke up with the urge to bleed words once more,
I'm not feeling sad, not necessarily, but, rather hollow,
Like I'm afloat,
Ever felt that way?
I hope not, it's terrifying,
I dont know how long I'll be suspended in air, or if I'll drop any second,
Uncertainty,
I think that's what plagues our souls,
Humans are uncertain at our cores,
Isn't that why we learn, to provide certainty to how our world exists because of the history we have, the elements we obtain, the gravity we experience, the systems that inhabit our body,
Isn't that why we breath,
To find certainty that we will live for another second,
I feel as though I am rambling, but I do believe there is some measure of truth in this,
Even if it's the slightest,
Let me continue,
Why do we love?
Because we ache for reassurance that we are wanted, when all in all, it is really just a chemical reaction,
Let's take two people inlove,
Why do they love each other?
Because it gives them a sense of purpose, a reason, a fulfilment,
And if you ask someone who is inlove with someone but is not with them, why they love them,
They'll say it's all they know how to do,
I.e purpose,
It all leads right back down to uncertainty,
We're all uncertain about things, some everything, even I, writing this proves I'm uncertain about the reason of my existence,
Why put me on this earth just so I can dream about leaving it and resting in a forever sleep?
It's quite a dull answer really,
We are needed to fill the void that we live in,
Just like some people drink when their heartbroken, the alchocol fills the void,
Our purpose is nothing else but to exist,
All the other reasons, work, school, etcetera, where all ideas developed over time, non are really essential,
Happiness is just a drug that comes after,
The more we seek to find it, the more hurt we are, the more pain we endure, and some might argue that that's a good thing,
But at what cost?
Our purpose is existing, simply being, nothing more, nothing less.