Analysis of Dojo's

What are we now?
A golden sow?
God's 'current' doing?
Heaven in the making?
Words are millions of years - changed.
Yet thoughts can come across deranged.
Do we even make sense?
Or is it all pre/post - nonsense?
Are we a neglected art?
Or is our consciousness off the chart?
Poetry no longer is what it was.
Because...
Few resemble the awkward challenge to the senses that the old films portrayed.
Yet i'm still tearfully swayed.
Some hardly rhyme at all but carry the most beautiful concepts.
A sort of threshold of precipice.
Is it better to stay small?
Wheeze instead of gasp or say nothing at all?
Or hold hands up: "I just don't understand yet do I?"
What are we looking for... You!, Me?, My... own dojo?
Yes or No?