Being

There is a point when one must decide what they view as truth
whether it is this or not
whatever it may be
it must be;
this is because we are fragile beings
who in fact know nearly nothing
we brush our teeth and walk places
or drive places
laugh in the wake of joke and deception
cry in the presence of almost anything else
and this is what we know and believe to know and that is okay;

there are the philosophers too
young and old
some of which admit not only our but also their ignorance
they relinquish themselves to the one fact I almost think could be real:

we are unknown;

the world is made up of too many molecules
too many things I can't remember or can't stop remembering
the world is made up of too little precision
and too much at the same time
too much emotion
to live by
to die by
to move to
on those mornings
noons
and nights
oh
and the idea of
containment
or seperation
the constant categorization our brains
filing information into anything
the flowing disconnect
of failure
or success
or love

yes,
what about love
we think we know it so well
we think
and think
and think
and sleep too
we dream
and wonder
who is in control
this time
if anyone