Thoughts, thoughts...

The universe started with a bang, or so some say;

Others claim that it was the creation of a higher power.

But how it came about is of little importance to me,

A speck of a person on a speck of a planet,

Just one of a hundred billion in the galaxy

And one of a number too large to comprehend in the vastness of the cosmos.

Yet I'm here,

A sentient sack of flesh and bones, sitting at carved wood,

Writing with fluid the color of the space between stars.

And I ask why.

The fact of my existence hits me like a punch-drunk fighter:

I'm in the ring, I know it's coming, but there's no dodging the blow.

For reasons unknown to me, life sparked in a microbial being billions of years ago,

And now, in Anno Domini, here am I:

The product of forty-six chromosomes that could have been arranged so many other ways;

The sum total of eons of change, of struggle for survival.

And look— we've been exploring beyond our atmosphere for decades,

Reaching for the stars like a child for its mother.

A miracle of human technology and innovation, but once more,

I ask why.

Of all the planets in the galaxy, why here?

Of all the galaxies in the universe, why this one?

Of all the universes that could exist... why?

There has to be some sort of reason,

Some sort of purpose to our existence and its implications...

Or perhaps there's nothing at all,

Just the rambling thoughts of one human sitting alone,

Destined to fade to dust.