is it art if it is not consumed by others; if it is not seen by the public, how can it breathe? is it just a hobby; another form of work; is it play? what if it soothes, healing troubled minds? what if it inspires, sets fire to hair and moves us, but remains unknown? what if we didn't feel compelled - this insufferable need - to attach labels to all things? what if everything just was requiring no label to give it life, to define it, to provide meaning - how would we hate then?
Tag: poetry
Progress
as we advance, we fall back - progress a plague; addiction a screen hiding forgotten truth ignored with no recourse - we know no limits facts are rumors whispered on the wind; reality, truth is what we believe we've done this to ourselves; post-modern questions opening the door for invalid answers - we numb ourselves with harmonious songs condemning those who sing off key forgetting to ask why they know a different note - the disease is more the symptoms: want and greed we could be cured by enough if we could see past the screen to look back, to accept old truths, we might be sated