It's something Hamlet paused to ponder,
Comparing states of being and not.
From this sphere 'round which we wander,
To one of no-one knows quite what.

How stark the contrast with all we know,
So vivid to all our senses.
To an elsewhere we are all to go,
Of which we're blind and share pretenses.

A somewhere after life has stopped.
No space, no time, no place,
On all we know, a curtain dropped,
To which we go without a trace.

How brief our wakeful spell from sleep,
When new eyelids lift to see.
Through a long-anticipated peep,
The what and where that this life be.

Its moment of minuscule magnitude,
Is a puzzle throughout its span.
And though disquiet may at night intrude,
We try ignore and such thoughts ban.

And we seldom have until days' end,
A pale blue dot perspective.
But through its illusions steady wend,
To better sense this retrospective.

Existence, return trip dark to light,
Anonymous short-term loan.
For some disappointment; others delight,
Before called back to life's known unknown.