What do I know?
It’s a simple a question, asked and answered
Yet such a simple question brings such a doubt to the soul.
What do I know? Said in a certain way, in the right kind of tone.
Becomes an insult, to things I’ve yearned to write and show.
It’s true however, what do I know?
I barely know myself, I’ve yet decided if I am friend or foe.
I know my fear however, I know my sadness, my guilt and tears.
I know my paranoia, how I jump in the night, at any sudden sound that gift of fright.
I know my joys, in a certain way, some are light, able to be shared and see the day.
Some however, I’m still learning, some I’ve yet to know, still buried in those shadows inside my self, my hidden soul.
So yet some ask, what do I know?
To this I say, not much of yet, I’ve a lot learn, so I read for I’ve no way to leave
To travel and experience
To go and see
So they ask, what do I know?
I know little, for the world is wide, and filled with questions that rattle inside my mind.
I know enough to to know I’ve yet to know at all, who I am, and how it is I shall rise or fall.
I know enough to ask the questions I need, I know enough that my curiosity was planted long ago
A budding seed
So, I ask myself, what do I know?
Not enough yet, not near enough
I’ll never know enough.