I know nothing-
And if thou'st had knowledge,
It would be trapped in the nebula of Madness.

I could write words
that have meanings in seldom realms-
And would still be shipped to the landfills.

The accumulation of words
Hath led me to this wasteland
of sorrow and murky sunrises.

Facts hath turned my life inside-out:
Exposing the shortcomings and promises
And the aching eyes, losses.

If I could penetrate this inky cloud-
it would be of no use.
The war inside will prevail, no truce.

So I sit and wonder;
My constructed knowledge-
a mere fragment of haulage.