Why does my writing hold such little meaning?

Misery

The world has become more terrible,
In some strange way.
I don't know how or why,
I woke up this morning with such a sense of dread,
But there it was standing right in front of me.
It was looking at me with the world's sharpest set of eyes.
Now I have to find my strength.
The necessity of fighting off such a monster,
Really shouldn't come before noon.
At least not without prior warning.

Contemplation on Life

Here I am, once again wondering about life.
Constantly fighting against the strife.
Arguments between me and other men,
But harder still are those amongst myself.
Reason evades attempts to harness its power.
Why this seeming impossibility,
In forcing it to chain my spirit.
Perhaps I ought to let it roam at liberty?
But which will over take the other,
Reason or my spirit?