I can only be tentatively certain
That this realm of existence
Is more than someone’s dream
Complexly contemplating characters
Who weave in and out of each others lives
But if I put that theory aside
I am only certain of this life
And cannot comment on whether or not
Others exist when we leave this one
I am in no hurry to test the existence of the afterlife
Regardless of the demon who plagues
My mind. Taunting me that I am
Wasting this existence, and should just
Give up, as though I can hit restart and
Try again. The demon lies. I refuse to
Call a mulligan. I am not always as
Efficient as I want, but I am doing
What I can, which is all we can do in this life.

(This is my October 16th contribution to Poem A Day October. I used the following writing prompt: Write about the universe, theology, or the afterlife.)


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