Time/illusion prose poem

Photo by JarleR

What is time?

Is it something we have?

Was it granted to us from the great beyond?

What do we do with time? I mean, we only have so much of it.

Is time an illusion, something not really there?

Are we an illusion, Just a view in the mirror, nothing more?

Are we just shadows on a cave wall, reflections of a different place?

Are we really we or just an avatar of someone more?

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