The pen races across the paper
like a cheetah chasing a gazelle;
there is no worry, no logic,
only a hunger honed focus.
The race carves out shapes on the plain
never to be repeated.
The values of those shapes
are only measured after the fact.
Is there still hunger?

The philosophers we remember were artists;
predators roaming the great plains.
What we know of their work,
only carcasses left behind
to be picked at by vultures.

Philosophy is an art,
guided by training, and experience,
but mostly intuition.
Also, philosophy is a discipline,
guided by logic, and reason, and,
dare I say,.. consensus.
Philosophy, as a whole, is an ecosystem
governed by predators and scavengers.
The predators are few,
but they are bold and… arrogant.
The scavengers are timid, but persistent.
Emboldened by their numbers.

It is the frenzy of the scavengers
that changes the world, if and when
they find something good to pick at.