it is of the unknown
the deepest pit of the brain without conscience
wondering, searching for answers
neglected, from what it seeks
layers and layers of structure of what we do not know
galaxies, milky ways, of what we desire to understand
But to understand is a crime to what we are taught
blind to what meets the eye
deaf to all sounds that move within us
So who are we exactly?
When it is unknown, to know, of the unknown?
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