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We Live Inside A Hologram
In depths of space where branes collide,
The truth is stretched and folded wide.
A hologram, not quite a sham—
But deeper still than who I am.
Each flicker here, a distant gleam,
Encoded on a cosmic screen.
The walls of black holes hum and burn
With secrets that we can't return.
What seems to move, and breathe, and grow
Is math behind a subtle show.
The edge contains the boundless whole,
A paradox that shapes the soul.
Your breath, your thoughts, your trembling hand
Are ripples in a shadow land.
No center holds, no solid floor—
We live on light, and nothing more.
The universe? A whispered lie
That sings we never truly die.
Copyright ©
James Mclain
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