What is life?

A beating heart,
Expanding lungs,
Chemicals sparking,
Mobile limbs,
Seeing eyes?

At least that’s
What’s I’ve been taught,
That there’s a clear line
Between life and death,
Uncrossable, unknowable,
A one way road,
And wisdom is granted
To those who acknowledge,
That dying is parting from life.

But I’ve never claimed
To be particularly wise,
Hard science is just the
Study of what can be measured,
But to think is to be, is it not?
And spirits live around us,
In the air, in nature, in our hearts,
In our memory.

Or is existence different from life?
So those who exist are not always those who live?
And how do we measure existence anyways?
By our perceptions, therefore our memory?
And what happens then when I am gone
If I am the only one willing to remember?

If a tree falls and no one hears it,
It did not make a sound, or so they say,
Weird how much we both limit and extend
The importance of human perception.

Note: Poem inspired by “We Are Seven” by William Wordsworth

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