NaPoWriMo 2015: day 13


During a Night of Insomnia, the Recovering Poet Epiphanizes, then Poems it Out the Next Day 


All my life is an answer to the question, "Why?" 

     why am i here?
              (to create, to love, to be.)
     why do i love what i love?
              (no reason is needed. love everything.)
     why does beauty enthrall?
              (everything is beauty.)
     why me?
              (why not me?)

I never said I wasn't a wise-ass. I never said my epiphanies would please. I never thought that insomnia was a poetic gift. Until it was. I only needed to write down the phrase pounding through me last night at 2am: 

all my life 
is an answer 
to the question 
why 

And it strikes me this afternoon, as I write, that every life, unconsciously or otherwise, is a living answer to our endless search for why. We've been so busy asking the question, repetitively, since we were little, that we never stopped to listen to our lives for the answer. Maybe this is the biggest blessing of middle age, the time to stop, the time to listen. 

     why am i here?
                (because here. because you.)
     why do i love what i love?
                (because i love.)
     why is everything so beautiful and so painful, all at once?
                (because hormones. and being human.)
     why not me?
                 (why any one?)

all 
my 
life 

is 
an 
answer 

to 
the 
question 

why 

And the deepest answers, of course, are only more questions. 

     why am i here?
               (who is this i? what is this here?)
     why do i love what i love?
               (what is love?)
     why pain? why beauty?
                (baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more.)
     why me?
                (why not me?)

It's very satisfying to have finally rickrolled my own self in a poem. Who said epiphanies, or poems, even serious ones, couldn't contain a moment of silly? Who made that rule? And why should I listen to a rule I never believed in? Why can't I wrote a note of congratulation to myself in a poem, for having fooled my brain into singing a Rick Astly song in the middle of writing?

all my life is an answer to the question 

       why?
                 why not?

Why not? Indeed.