Self-Questioning

I could sit down at a table
With reams of paper and some pens,
And proceed to compose
The poetry of my life.
I could pine for loves lost,
Lament the state of the world,
Make predictions of my future,
And outline the philosophy of my life.

But what is the point?
Why should i even try
When it is unlikely I will ever match
The heights of the great poets?
How can I compare my words to Shakespeare's
Or talk about life like Keats
Extol life's passions like Donne,
Or even hope to be remembered?

Yet......

I will write.
For knowledge may be gained
By insights made by others,
But true wisdom can only be achieved
By insights one makes himself.