nobody ever really
fully grasps a concept
what we know
are merely shadows
just empty projections
we try to make
illusions of convesations
exchanging nods of affirmation
yet are devoid of comprehension
we dine with strangers
whose whims, whose dreams,
whose greatest fears
we think we know
but no
along never ending
mirror walls, we walk
surmising our reflections
as who we are
even how disfigured,
distorted they may be
all we do is crawl
inside ill-lighted caves
pretending to know
what lies ahead
until we stumble
until we're dead
a poem a day