So wholly unexplored
and imaginary you are.
What motivates such
passive, unfeeling thought?
Emotion nor consideration
have you tasted in whole.
Your heart is no center,
your eyes no windows,
Only gaping holes
filled with meditation.
What is it
to be you?
Could my passion
be so easily tempered?
And my mind
so infinitely filled?
Could I change
what makes a
human?
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