Nyx

There's a darkness makes no sense,
Is neither literal nor
Tropic. It's the dark of not,
And every last beast who sleeps
With an entire brain at once
Has experienced it, or,
Rather, not experienced

But carries the memory
Of not experiencing
Around, aware, unaware,
Uncertain. We fear this dark
Who take out our memories
To reconstruct and study
Daily. Waste, empty homeland.