"Why do I write?" asked The Poet to his pen,
"For justice? For peace? For the chance to get some sleep?
Did I think I'd be heard if I just wrote down my words?
Was it my belief that I did it for the fame or the glory
Or to just get some relief from the misery in my life's story?
"Why do I write?" asked The Poet once again.

"That is the question," said the pen in reply.
"After everything's done we must ask why.
That is the question to last through the ages
The question to fill all the books and their pages,
Written by the teachers and their sages
All seeking to answer the question why.

"Why do we do what we do when we do it,
If to wake up down the road and conclude that we blew it?"

4/22/15