Today ZeN Wonders: What is Art?

'Art or: Just a Bunch of Words'


My Words are Driven by Selfishness.

Poetry, that only sees, the subjects,
That belongs to me.

My Pain.. My Sorrow..
My... My... My...

And That's the Predominant, reason of why,
Ill find Myself Solitarily Confined,
Till the Night that I Die.

This is truth: I am Nothing Essential.

This is truth: I am Nothing Reverential.

True it is, That I may have a Portion of Potential.

Yet, its found in a land,
That Produces Little Fruit.

I want to write something of great value.
But Creativity is useless,
If your Mind does not function.

So, I deviate, into a different land.
I only mention things that everyone understands.

I speak of "All Those Days.. Quite Full of Sorrow."
So that a little Sympathy from you, I can Borrow.

So even if this Wheel, I awfully Steer,
I Motivate you to be Fond of me,
For having Shed so many Tears.


That it makes me Feel a hypocrite.
Is it Earnestness or just a False Script?
Is all my Attention Seeking, just a Lark?
Or am I Seeking to Unload, a Massive Weight from my Heart?

I find myself often staring at my own collection of words.
That spontaneously I Wrote, but its Feeling, I have not Heard.

I think that the Concepts Often, I, have Blurred.
By my Soul Searching and Proper Intentions.


I May Not KNOW what I am...

But I KNOW how I feel...

My Self Image Is:


An Empty Vessel.


ZeN