There are halls of
mirrors, sometimes
people are like
paper dolls.
The ones that played
with me in childhood,
careful shapes
with scissors,
and coloured
in dresses.
Nor I in 3D, in my
mind sometimes.
One theory of existence is
we are holograms.
Or maybe life is a
blinking in and out,
as with breathing,
but faster than
the speed of light.
Poem: Marie Craven (CC BY-NC 4.0)
Image: Michael Gaida, Pixabay PD
