Monday, 1 March 2021


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

Image: Michael Gaida, Pixabay PD