If a poem or essay can end with a conclusion or its opposite, either one,
Can it be of any use to anyone?

Do the discrepancies and disparities, dualities and densities, reflect only
      the dementia
Of the bearer of the pencil?

First entertain, then enlighten if you can. One stretches truth in order
      to pretend,
Another leavens with levity one's inevitable end.

Most days it's not possible to bring your life into an expressible state.
Disparate hopes, arduous chores, word choices. And, of course, the  
      state of the state.

Driven by ideas rather than rhymes, for it is not metres, but a
      metre-making argument,
That makes a poem. Convenience store or university English
      department

The day's disputes, down to the meaning of the weather, leave you
      indisposed
To share your heart of zero and your inner rose.

It is the strong force, the energy of the loved ones combined with
      cooperation for good or war.
Dad's years in New Guinea fighting ****, he said, were his best by far.

The best that can be said or done is Be where you are. Love the one
      you're with
Not necessarily an adult of the opposite ***, perhaps just a kid who
      hates math

And school, dresses goth, reads rarely but learns a lot from movies
      and YouTube,
Has the presence of mind to say I am who I am, deal with it. That's
      who I want to be

And have always been. Today clean the house, again. Woke up this
      morning to two thoughts:
How sweet to be alive! Life is tough.