Immensely vast and shockingly cold, with pockets of energy sprinkled sparse,
The Universe is mostly dust and space, quiet and indifferent to human farce.
Earth exists as a one-off aberration, as if a pulse emanating from a black hole,
How wonderful it would have been, if Earths prospered from pole to pole.
Always hungry and eager to grow, with everyone food and con-specifics few,
The Life is mostly about fight and survive, and only the strong get their due.
That compassion be wired and inbuilt, is as if a miracle just came true,
How wonderful if life was all about, thriving together with Love as the glue.
Afraid of death and in search of a god, with flashes of reason and insight a little,
The Human is mostly flesh and blood, playing the given hand, refusing to be second fiddle.
The inner voice howls and haunts and taunts, faint and inaudible, its presence a boon,
How wonderful it would be, if instead of playing God, humans found their Humanity soon.
I'm merely an impotent observer and poet, a chronicler of the times,
How wonderful if my words become an Oracle, and not mere rhymes.
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