Doubt

Who are these people

Or rather what are these creatures?

Embodied living things like myself,

Or are they merely lifeless imitations of me?

They express some things I feel and I can't help but believe,

That they are indeed like me,

While such a thought is reassuring,

To know that I am not alone in what I call this world,

It answers no questions,

Solves no mystery,

The greatest mystery, however, remains,

That I question the existence and behaviour of all that I see,

But not this I who sees,

An entity that takes itself for granted,

Before one even grasps the import of such a doubt,

The screen that blinds one takes over,

Pretending to think logic and science,

Brushing aside real questions of life and its purpose,

Until one day when

The brain that functions, and the body it thinks about are turned inanimate,

By that other mystery, Death