Words, oh words!

Words, oh words — all and merely.
I like these words. Praise me? Surely!
But not what I seek, not what I want —
For words are relentless; feelings aren't.
I seek to feel, to mean, to realize, to live.
I crave perfection carved with pet peeves.

But further than that, I often ask:
What does it mean to be art?
Is it chaos, expressed somehow,
Or order, desired nevertheless?

Is it a world of my own?
(Cause who doesn't like authority?)
Or is it what I grasp of reality?
(Cause who understands it fully?)

Words — ah! You've played again,
Making me wonder, and yonder ahead.
Your crimes never go in vain;
Your deeds are so smoothly fed.

For I know not a different way.
I speak now through words, merry and old.
Thou shalt live at thy worst and best —
Thou shalt let the meanings unfold.