The Uninformed

You don’t know,

And nor do I,

The terror, the agony,

The pride, the joy,

In spans so minor,

The surrounding world can crumble, can collapse,

Or it can be reborn, rebuilt again,

You don’t know how an apple feels,

You can’t gauge the pain in one orange peel,

Bushels, bags, nets or barrels,

How they are sorted, how they are combined,

Should never alter your contemplation,

Never change the depravity you may find,

Never underestimate the stimulation, in either core or rind,

You’ll never see through my lens,

You’ll never be that pure again,

As they once were, prior to the time we spent,

They say and we listen,

They give their order, which becomes our mission,

Things won’t change, they never will,

Until we question, until we comprehend,

Of which we are incapable, without explanation, without asking why