What is life without emotion?
A sluggish drag of every day
What is a kiss without desire?
A perfunctory gesture of
dubious origin, pressing one's
flaccid lips against another's.
What is art without passion?
Vague subjects with dull colors,
a string of notes played in succession,
a piece of stone that does not move.
What is living if it is not fiercely grasping each moment?
What is the act of existing if it is merely breathing?
Where does the love of life lie in a man who
does what he is told because he must
and nothing more?
Where is adventure in a cold bare room
or a sterile flourescent cubicle?
What is the meaning of life
if we fail to give it meaning?