I am held captive in Plato's cave,
Forever, it seems, to be enslaved
To its wall-cast shadows, smells, and sounds,
Which we must accept as true and real
Because our own senses so expound.

But, how do we really know what's true
When perception can give little clue
Why anything matters or perchance
To know why this life is not a curse?
But, when words fall short, I choose to dance.