Nothing There Poem by Sarah Solomon

Can air exonerate us form the immoralities we commit?
Then in what way can a god pardon our mistakes
Must our pitiful lives mature around its supposed death?
Or is it because of death that we mature
Do we ask questions because we desire answers?
Or are they just reasons to prove us living
Is reality a dream?
Or dream a reality
I presume that god does not pardon our sins
But is an excuse to commit those very sins
I presume that we do not mature to later die
But we die because we mature
I presume that we need no answers from questions
Just the passing thought keeps our minds at ease
I presume that dreams are just answers
To fill the nauseating gaps in reality
I think that what I presume is just
Me dealing with my solitariness