I have looked towards a million worlds tonight,
fearful that there might be more like ours,
where despair and anger rage and reign,
hiding between hollows and sea slapped shores.

Land lust.
Territorial.
Imperial.

From lizards to lesser beasts and higher mortals,
there is an extreme decadence in achieving life;
primordial slime where time is irrelevant
and chance, they say, defies the odds of a God.

Needs must
Territorial
Ethereal

Exploring to exploit and crudely anoint
another New World is the genome dynamic.
This surpasses mere survival and squats
with dictatorial ardour in the heart of our universe.