Possibly...

There really are no lines
When spaces and things
Are just
Scrunched up atoms
That make up my couch
The hard wooden floor
 - well, it's not real wood, but, whatever -
The air full of them
Farther apart
and unseen
And everything breaks down to the same basic parts
That can combine
To look so very different

But of course there is my perception
Crafted by these very pieces
The same particles
Like in dust
and bedsheets
and lemons?

And then there is my existence
My being
A soul?
Just a little something extra.

The World Around

All the people come and go
All that I will never know
But a few who wander through
Some for but a glance or two
Others stay, more permanent
Though out of sight I will invent
Their thoughts and woes and daily chores
Never to be writ down in lores
So many lives that flit away
Others last but for a day
Races, jobs, countries unknown
With pets and friends, trash and throne
Tongues and tales and customs varied
People joking, people married
Before, during, and after me
So much existance I'll never see