Why Write Then?

Give me then something to write about All the truth-tellers scrambling around Aching twisting burning out Because really, whats left to say? Why write why write why write Poetry? Why write something that has no meaning? NO MEANING?! Think of the thought that gave it birth The hands that gave it breath The ink that sent blood flowing! To say it has no meaning? Why write then? Glory, glory glory? The ink of pen on page Wordsworth, Yeats Donne, They are, have been, long gone. Do you want to go down forever, As a mad poet? OH I am a mad poet! I write the scrambling screaming truths So quickly my skin shatters I cannot hold them in. I shake my hair and phrases fly out Theology, philosophy A cacophany in my brain. It all falls out like rain. Why write then? Why write anything? Why learn the words and curves and open lines That come from laying down these lines? Be a street poet, a rapper? Lay down the beat and sing the skeltonic, For we are all street poets Masters of the word-wild world Yeah, not. Why write then? To master, to be a master? To be an ancient, a wise thing A POET? All capital letters and high-minded Words to fill up spaces Great thinkers, speakers dreamers? Are we all POETS? To think the mad things? No, no we are not. Why write then? Why sling the words across the page Like spilling wine on a table cloth Leave them to soak into the table Stain your hands prism color? Are we all artists? No we are poets. Poetry is art! You argue. I can argue back. Poetry is not art, It is your soul breathing. The questions you dare not ask Accusations you cannot make, Poetry provides an opening. For the truth to takes its place. Providing, of course, That it is, indeed, truth.