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Damnant Quod Non Intelligent
In shadows cast by the unlit corridors of knowing, They condemn what slips through fingers of comprehension, Words entwined in vines of uncertainty, Damnant Quod non intelligunt, the silent chant.
A labyrinth of misunderstood whispers, Confinement in the narrow alleys of judgment, Echoes reverberate in chambers of ignorance, The disoriented stumble on uneven ground.
Disaffection blooms in the garden of misapprehension, Petals of understanding fall, unclaimed, Faces etched with the weight of unspoken judgments, A disquieting tapestry woven with threads of conjecture.
Locked in the dungeon of shallow understanding, Truth stands as a specter, veiled and obscured, While minds strain against invisible tethers, Condemning the unfamiliar to the prison of dismissal.
In this landscape of fractured cognizance, They condemn the foreign, the uncharted, Yet beneath the surface of their certitudes, A sea of undiscovered worlds ebbs and flows.
Damnant Quod non intelligunt, a refrain of caution, For in the realm of the unknown lies the genesis, Of compassion untold, of bridges unbuilt, Where understanding might yet unfurl its wings.
A photo of Olinka Lickova nude on a boulder next to a friendly demon-spawn giant bug created in MidJourney.
