There Is No PointA Poem by Kenneth The PoetI mean it, honestly, is there any point?
There is no point to living on this battered, cratered rock
There is no point in reading and writing pedantic schlock There is no point in pleasing some exotic being called God There is no point in seeing the beauty no matter how flawed There is no point in reading Nietzsche, Sartre and Zizek There is no point in having periods of mind-blowing sex There is no point in running a marathon or climbing a hill There is no point in pointing a gun and shooting to kill There is no point in discussing issues at a level myopic There is no point in feeling utopian or even dystopic There is no point in feeling happy, sad or even between There is no point in speculating about things unseen There is no point to music, mathematics or philosophy The point of our knowledge is approximate sophistry The point of our metaphysics is empty, agnostic noise The point of our class system is one for privileged boys The point of our bodies is left up to the agent, just a choice The point of our brains is chemical madness with a voice There is no point is penning any more words of depression There is no point in fighting the urge, no more repression The point for Sisyphus was to push that heavy stone alone The point for me, to teach the math of the cube and cone The point of the story is to persist, infest and replicate That may be the ultimate point, our most basic state © 2011 Kenneth The PoetReviews
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Added on May 24, 2011Last Updated on May 24, 2011 AuthorKenneth The PoetBismarck, NDAboutKenneth The Poet is an optimist wrapped in the candy shell of moroseness and cynicism. He lives between the two parallels marked 46 and 49, all while living in the state marked 39. He pretends that he.. more..Writing
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