Do I cease to exist if I am not seen,
Like a tree in a forest that makes no sound
Unless it is heard when it falls?
Do I exist in the mirror when I look,
An illusory glimpse into a framed reality
That is not real?
Viewer or image, who can say
Where reality resides
Or if we are but dreaming?
Is my life a mere illusion of the soul
Or perhaps a whispered image
In the mind of God?
Or is illusion’s self the fount,
Becoming real with every heartbeat?
If I am forgotten, was I ever there?
Did I leave my trace upon a world
Whose reality I question
Or was I just a zephyr
In the cosmic night
Whispered to the stars
By voiceless lips…
Or did I touch your heart?