I know nothing

I know nothing

Of poetry

Of life

The definition of love

The intention of being

The measure of another

The passion of cause

Sleight of indifference

The pain of suffering

Is always relative,

In largesse

It is widely spread

Knowing few boundaries

Charitably seductive

Its impact ideographic

No words will tell

Its true nature

A symbol

Of malicious intent

To be endured

Does that make us equal

In spite of difference

Pain is pain

Is what I know enough

To see me through

The trammels

Of restriction

Limiting my freedom

To regulate

When one’s own

Limited capacity

For tolerance

Is overwhelmed

By a catharsis

Of self-flagellation

Which comes with recognition

Of one’s own insignificance

Will that be enough

To satisfy

The indulgence

Of self-absorption

Reassigned

As ennui