Inspired Uselessness

  What do I desire?
  I often wonder whether my answer 
  is bound by my means;
  Is my appetite predeterminately starved?
  What *can* I desire?

  But this half-hearted abandon
  fails to assert my ambition.
  My internal fire can't come to fruition
  If I limit its legs to stand on
  If I deny its lifeblood

  In all honesty, it’s music
  I want my path to be etched in the
  notes of a stave.
  The emancipating jounce of
  inspired uselessness that it embodies*

  Music, with its eternal gift of inspiration.
  Its ability to sift through the nonsense
  and help heal the rifts in my emotions
  I offer it my utmost devotion

  Spending days at a time working on one single line, 
  Processing a noise, adjusting its poise.
  And as I address the finesse of the sounds I express,
  I stop to reassess what they mean to me.

  Have I written from within?
  Falsified feelings wont win me over.
  But I digress...

  Yes, music is what I see as my true calling
  Even if that means falling at hurdles or
  finding myself increasingly out of luck.
  Music is my passion, I'm stuck to it.
  Music is passion.

*Credit for these two lines to Tom Robbins "…Art, like love, is what makes the world forever fresh and new. However, this revitalization cannot be said to be art’s purpose. Art revitalizes precisely because it has no purpose. Except to engage our senses. The emancipating jounce of inspired uselessness."