Thoughts Of An Atheist Poem by Christopher Withers

individuality, seemingly unique
yet, built upon the same mechanics,
built upon the same brain structure,
in each and everyone of us.
its engine, self awareness, conscious window
to a perceived external world - holds claim
to being one of a kind, but in truth
it is simply the same medium, given seeming
difference through the accumulation of
knowledge from a different viewpoint.
a picture, taken at a different angle
is still a picture.
everyone you will ever meet, at their source
is but you - is that inner voice, proclaiming
its sentient existence to all who will listen.
death? to be feared?
simply the end to one pocket of knowledge -
now carried over by artificial means.
the next new born wail will contain your source,
our source:
fresh, ready to soak up knowledge
and develop its own belief in its own uniqueness.
to be born in every birth, and to die in every death
and maintain the fragile structure of awareness
borne upon oblivions cusp.