One Persons Take on Philosophy…(of sorts)

What is Philosophy?

Is it asking questions of the self?

Is it answering questions for the self?

My writers ability brought on by my lil’ writers elf…

We speak till we are, in the face, quite blue,

We discuss until we find we have no clue,

Does anyone, philosopher or cleric, individual or self,

Have any idea as to what is spoken here or to the self? 

What more do we need, what do we want, when we speak,

Yes speak, to anyone including ourself…

Is speaking to the self on philosophy inherently incorrect?

Through the twists and turns of the spoken word,

We travel beyond that of where we did initially project,

And to do so without being a part or parcel of any object,

We must literally become a small paragraph of the initial subject,

Alas, to do so can ruin reputations, in effect we must resurrect,

The lost subjects of our past,

To traverse the extended highways we are therein more readily able to inspect…

Where does the train of thought above initiate itself?

From whence did it come, where will it end, what is in the middle?

All these questions, some of which seem to make no immediate sense,

Should be answered before moving on the inevitable next,

Or am I herein being overly and utterly, too much even for myself, dense?

These questions they do permeate the edges of my reality & totality,

They just keep me on the edge of transparent insanity,

Speaking to me in tongues, those I have never heard, speaking in profanity,

Of the world in general, and the populace of this world, yes in all humanity…

I could go on, but what is the sense, to beat a dead horse?

As it is dead already, no more pain can it feel, much like the outer edge,

Again, of this my insanity or sanity depending on the outlook over the ledge,

We have to keep thinking, this is work in progress, I do hereby certify and allege…

           © ~ poppywrittED ~ 7/17/04