If Life is Meaningless, Why Bother?

 

‘Has life a meaning?’ I posed 

as a theoretical question, once, 

to a couple I knew.

‘Has life a meaning,’ 

she returned, ‘– for whom?’

‘Exactly!’ said he.

I dismissed them in my mind

for poor understanding. 

I was 24.

Now, at 86, I maintain 

it doesn’t matter if life seems – 

or is – without meaning. 

Why bother? Because I happened: 

I have a life. Because I wish to enjoy, 

to savour this (arguably random) gift. 

Because I wish that

it count for something.

If only to me. 

Because, whatever it may or may not 

mean in the grand scheme 

(if there is one), 

I may give it whatever 

personal meaning I choose. And

I do so choose.

Written  for Poets and Storytellers United at Friday Writings #223: Why Bother?  (Also, a poet I admired once told me, 'Philosophy is death to poetry.'  This is an attempt to show that they can sometimes combine with no detriment to either – though, some readers may think that I have produced neither!)