A Native American told me that each person is the
Center of a universe,
Their universe,
Millions of separate universes
Whirling around each other.
The self is the only thing a person can know.
Everything else,
Knowledge, media, sounds, history, art, other people,
Everything,
Are outside stimuli,
All perceived differently by every organism.
So a fly is the center of its universe, too.
When you die, your entire universe vanishes,
Disappears with a whoosh,
Emptying its entropy,
It's arrow of time,
All of it, falling to ash
As if it never existed.
But pieces of my universe may also be
Pieces of yours,
With every universe connected somewhere
If only by a thread,
Intersecting,
A degree of separation.
This means my universe
And yours,
Survive,
Even if only by a little,
And so make us
Immortal.
© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012
Image: S. Ivanov
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