Poem of poetry (rhetorical thoughts)

I have a question which I wish to state,
in this rhyme-free poem with no fancy condiments.

What is it with that melancholic notion,
that drives a being to lift pen to paper,
and pen down his souls' darkest stirrings?

Why do we as poets feel obliged to give life to words,
to decorate stanzas with pretty imagery,
spice it up with a medley of metaphors?

What is in a poem that gives each a unique flavor,
As blue cheese has its stink,
So poems have their unique signatures.

In what depths do we stir the pot of words,
Adding in emotions we've kept closeted.
Spicing up our thoughts, with fluid rhyme and rhythm?