Poetry – Life


An interlude between oblivion;

An unreal sandwich in time;

A sojourn of something.

Can it be real?

When it is gone

Did it ever exist?

When there are no memories

And no witnesses left,

No eyes to see

Or brains to record,

Will anything have existed at all?

In this capsule of time,

This bubble of reality,

We wrestle with eternity

And it pins us to the floor.

Opher 28.7.2018

I think I was in my metaphysical frame of mind the evening in which I wrote this. Somehow the sound of one hand clapping was smitten with the sounds of trees falling in the distant forest.

There are times when I am sure this life is a dream. When we are all gone and there is no sentient life left in the universe to sense its majesty or delight at its wonders can it still exist?

It is this egocentric thinking that spawns religions. We cannot believe that such wonders exist if not for our own benefit. That is the folly of humans.

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