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I suppose it is kind of preposterous that one imagines himself important enough to write down his opinions for others to read. Chattering superciliousness is one of the most infuriating things about academics and so-called intellectuals, generally, who feel compelled to share their thoughts. But here it goes, anyway.

Why? A Poem

Why?
A Poem By Michael E. Berumen 10-19-98

Why does it matter to know exactly what we are?
What does it mean to live, only so soon to die?
From whence do we really come: from the mind of God or from bits of a star?
How do we distinguish an ultimate truth from a hopeful lie?

Questions like these have vexed many men over the ages.
The certain answers of some have inspired more than one war.
Each generation has its high priests and soothsaying sages;
With their verities destined to become forgotten lore.

So it goes, time and again, and forever after;
Answered in different ways, though, the questions remain the same.
The gods must be beside themselves with laughter!
Does our nakedness or our purposelessness cause us the greater shame?

In the end, this much I know: life is to live!
Whether coincidence or design; whatever our true origins might be.
For, no matter what bounty or travail Fortune may give,
A life without joy and passion, to live without really living at all, is surely not for me.