I am

I’m writing a poem about something that has no name.
Rather, it cannot be named.
No name for it exists.
Neither can it ever exist.
For to name something, is to coin its boundaries; its descriptions.
This cannot be described.
No words you and I know now, our ancestors knew, or words that our future generations will know, will ever ever suffice.

So begs the question, on my word alone,
does what I cannot describe,
exist?

penned.

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