"It has come to our attention."

Here in the court of Intellect,
where Sense serves proudly in Reason's thrall,
and bound by Logic's inerrant law -
we know Nothing exists beyond these walls.
We indulgently hear and entertain
all the breathless petitions Perception brings.
These playthings and problems amuse one's brain,
but they must be deemed inessential things,
since they come from what can't be ascertained.

We shall lower our Self to proceed as if,
not because They exist, but because at this time,
we have nothing of substance to occupy mind,
and we see small chance of amending this.

It has always been thus, wethinks,
and protest it's fine: Ignorance
is all we can know of bliss
- going off, getting lost time to time
in the myths of our Memory,
chasing the you I knew,
before we reduced all of this.

We still talk, you and I - you
are just the same.

You don't even know
you may not exist.
You are just
a report
brought in from outside
- the only real thing, perhaps,
in all of that formless waste
of what Is.