Some existentialism today, for Day 20 of National Poetry Month.
Proof of Existence
Perhaps what we see, life itself, is a dream?
a shared mirage of existential flotsam
born of quintessence and primordial scream
A fever delusion allowed to blossom,
an empirical hoax constructed to conceal,
a cosmos reality playing possum
How did we accept, who decreed we are real?
Is it our own grand design, a paradigm?
Waiting for the philosophical reveal
Are we slight illusions of momentous time
when actuality shifts, into sublime?
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