Fruitless Inquiry

The originating moment so many years ago,

born to life our universe, all that we may know.

Celestial reactors, fusing plasma into stone,

drive themselves into oblivion; their searing mantles thrown.

Emancipated stardust cast drifting into space;

collects into a nebula that boldly claims its place.

Gravity pulls and molds a star, planets rage with strife.

The gentle third, though absurd, came to nourish life.

By odds; or gods; or happenstance, complex atomic chain

became self-replicating acids that evolved into a brain.

Consciousness and instinct, survival their only goal,

grew to sentient identity that some may call a soul.

Born into confusion, but one thing certain to be true:

Life and death, the endless cycle; old gives way to new.

As each moment slips away, quicker than the last,

It reminds me that I’m mortal by converging with the past.

One thing I tend to ask myself, while pondering the chances;

is there a point or just the luck of countless circumstances?

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