Why Anything?

Chicago, Illinois

One of the existential  questions I struggle with
is why
Why do I labor over these words
Take thought in every sound
Every phonetic tone rolling across my tongue
Vibrating messages across the sky.

Why
do I choose each one so intently?
Making sure it captures every feeling associated inside

Why do I write?

There are few who listen
And it has never been for fame
But something inside of me makes me feel like
I will die
If these words don't leave my chest

If the ever-flowing passion and pain
can't leave.

It's as if
I am barely living
gripping the fringes of life
crawling to find
meaning
depth
something worth
the fight

But when I write
I am alive
I can see
deeper

I can breathe.

Why do we do anything?

Why create
when it has likely already been done
Why speak up
when a million other voices are clanging bells to your whisper
Why serve
When the same hand you feed is is feeding you hate
Why love
when we all know we can never truly love enough?

Why?

At times I have given my time, my heart, my comforts, securities and life
away
to a person, a place, a pursuit,
a battle field of disarray

The only product I can witness to
is the budding life
inside of me

Perhaps it's for us,
the noble pursuits
the crafting of our skill
the surrender of our will

Perhaps we will never see or even reach
impact

Maybe we were never meant to.

What if it is all meant for
the ever evolving and shaping
character
within?

What if
we
are the product
of everything we will ever give?