We Understand So Little of Ourselves

We understand so little of ourselves,

While others live in many-mirrored halls,

We stare minutely at the cracks in bricks,

At spaces in between the cracks in walls.

We do not hear them when they call our name,

We sit there lost in silent, private thought,

The twisted nets they give us do not work,

The shadows which we chase cannot be caught.

And others have their truth but do not know it,

For knowing’s only found after a fall.

We understand so little of ourselves,

It seems we are not anything at all.