Life is a game, yes.
But it is not played by us.
The universe can be found
In a rundown bar on
The outskirts of Olympus.

It is a battered old pool table
Covered with ash and stale beer.
Where once the gods would linger
Laughing long into the evening
Full of mirth and cheer,
While all the time competing
For who would take control.
Cronus versus Zeus
Potting planets into black holes.

Like all good games, die.
The table was forgotten.
The bar decays
The enthusiasm fades
The universe went out of fashion.
But all the while it was rotten
Something grew on the planets
Misbegotten.
A mold unwanton and alone.
The mold was life and the table was rife
With that which the gods shall never know.