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?