i am the universe come alive, come conscious, and what is sentience but a mystery living at the base of all that we can ever be? what a strange dichotomy, how insignificant, and yet spectacular! inconceivable beauty. my life is a verse in the cosmic poetry constructed out of explosive nothing, a vast vacuum littered with unknowable everythings. what to me is familiar idiosyncrasy, the everyday routine of my wakings was arbitrarily designed by some intricate, equation unsolvable, navier-stokes nothing compared to the machinations of the minute turbulent eddies from the swirling currents in my bloodstream to the patterns formed by astronomical dances debris and space dust. so how is it then that in my miniature dollhouse of a life, am i languished? i look up through the pollution, through the night sky, and think of how much i long to simply bask in the beautiful artistic whimsy the universe has let me into, to embark on the philosophical, the insurmountable task to uncover the myriad of deep secrets locked now for i am the universe come conscious.
its the first poem i've written in a while. a deviation from my usual subject matter.