Page 39
- CAZ
- Aug 3, 2017
- 1 min read
Allegorical Testimony
A door opens in a pitch black room.
You picture it though you are not supposed to.
There is no light and I said nothing of a sound.
It smells mildly of your childhood.
A sense so different for each person, I must mean my own
or someone I made up who was a child so far from I.
Put plainly, this means it is a smell I cannot describe.
I have not touched on taste,
in this case, it is irrelevant.
Tell me,
how do we know the door ever opened at all?
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