The Meaning of Meaning

I just read an article titled “the meaning of no meaning”. It talks about how we tend to always try to find something big of one small of art work in the sake of interpretation, appreciation or critical thinking. My extensive reading lecturer can draw a conclusion of politics and law supreme out from a simple poem talks about birds. I do not say that she is wrong or something like that, but reading that article gives me some supporting points to what I thought is just the selfish thinking of mine.
I used to love poem and I read a lot of them. I like them just the way they are. I do not need to know the real meaning intended by the author to love them. I know whether a poem is good or not just by read and then feel it, not interpret it. A poem titled A Flightless Bird was so nice when I read and feel it. In my heart, it feels like an unvarnished hope that last forever. However, after we discuss it in my extensive reading class and the lecturer, like always, gave us the understanding that the meaning of the poem is about law supreme and disability of the chops, I felt disappointed to the writer. How come he used such a very nice words to describe something that boring and stupid?
So, knowing the “real meaning” of an artwork just make me feel less satisfied to them. May be it will be oaky if the big meaning we give them is true. But what if the fact is just as simple as the artwork itself? What if the story about a man who cannot stop walking is not about god searching but simply about a men who walk too long? We have been a ridiculously serious reader for something that is not serious at all. What actually makes us so sure that there is always something bigger and deeper behind an easy and simple poem or story?