I often try to fathom

as I muse about my work

that persistent little niggle

to call myself a jerk

Is what I do productive

scribbling words into a rhyme

should I be looking for a better way

to spend my idle time

Then my other half spoke up

in a strong but tempered measure

not all needs be productive

some things just exist for pleasure

Interrupting, I retorted with a snap

ignoring simple pleasure, surely there should be

something more of value,

some grand profundity

In response to that my other half

erupted with a sigh

you ask the eternal question, friend

the incomprehensibly elusive, Why?

So that's it then, I asked again

nothing to redeem

composing endless fancy words

to assuage one's self-esteem

Once more my other half spoke up

scribbled words are hardly wasted

they're conception and contentment both

a banquet to be tasted

For those who revel in their meaning

who expand with inspiration

you create that enthralling avenue

where they can find connection

So the answer to my musing

posed in that one paragraph

is to cast aside negligible doubts

and obey my other half

2 months ago - A writer is someone who has taught his mind to misbehave. -Oscar Wilde This reminded me of that

2 months ago Loved this one!