What's The Point?
Date: Sunday, 3rd January 2010 @ 04:55:02 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry


Contributed By: MAYHEWDAVID

Collectibles attract much dust
And never involve common-sense
Pretty soon they’re buried in the shed
What's the point of ornaments?

Full of churches and hypocrites
And a character very staid
With a lame economy and future
What's the point of Adelaide?

Such high-maintenance pooh-machines
They're dependent and hollow logs
For loners and folk with poor social skills
What's the point of dogs?

Printing a scene soon forgotten
People can't see memories laugh
It's pointless to point out the obvious
What's the point of a photograph?

Hiding in dark escapism
We're superficially groovy
Dreaming of a nubile celebrity
What's the point of a movie?

Pure literary rhetoric
Feigning clever simplicity
Rarely read lines craving air and respect
What's the point of poetry?

Abstract pretensions inviting voyeurs
Counter-pointing metaphors so smart
Yet those fragile egos give naught of substance
What's the point of art?

Deliberate epilepsy
Mindless movement and queer prancing
A primal mating-ritual so dumb
What's the point of dancing?

Fun and games are so engrossing
Competitive distractions we court
But it'll never feed our starving millions;
What's the point of sport?

Worshiping musical styles and garb
Is such a meaningless passion
Dressing in pop culture’s sheer uniform
What's the point of fashion?

The great thrills of falling in love
But joy ebbs and becomes remembrance
Dr Love Rabbit is soon neutered
What's the point of romance?

Enduring mutual martyrdom
We suffer each other's baggage
Loyalty desensitizes
What's the point of marriage?

Emotional intelligence
Demands wise thoughts ever linking
Brains speculating on reality
What's the point of thinking?

Chasing financial security
Gloating over pots of honey
Is meaningless on our deathbed
What's the point of money?

In this shrinking world we embrace
Rotting shrines to detached memories
We grieve the loss of our precious space
What's the point of cemeteries?

Weak, we reach out for religion
Humanity's sage power pod
We kill for eternal life insurance
What's the point of God?

Killing air-time until we die
Our hearts are so forgiving
Putting off the inevitable
What's the point of living?

Our cynical, narrow judgments
And self-righteous condescensions
Beg the reflections and mirrors to ask
What's the point of the questions?

DjMayhew, 25 Jan 2007

This poem is Copyright © MAYHEWDAVID



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