What is it,

the passage of time?

A beginning, a journey?

We rise slowly.

We watch.

We are the actors,

playing out each scene.

There are many.

Too many to count

or even remember.

Does this human animal have no soul,

no afterlife to wish for?

We are the tense beating of many hearts,

like fingers on the trigger of a gun,

as we wait through life.

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