Oh great enigma,
For eons, humanity’s incompetent mind has been trying
And failing
To interpret you.

No matter the fickle dramas Earthlings fear
Your stagnant presence reminds us why we’re here —
For we are not just ourselves.
We are configurations of stellar dust, which meld
Into what we recognize as our existence.

Send us a sign to show
That you recognize us and love us so.
Give us the means to solve
Problems we puzzle with about how we’ve evolved.

The farther we get from our marbled home,
The more exotic your nature:
Diamond planets orbiting vibrating pulsars,
And dark warpers of space-time from which not even light can escape.
As our understanding of you begins to mature
More and more seems to be unknown,
But I know something brilliant is taking shape.

What are your origins?
A simple bang is not sufficient. Inflation continuously gives rise
To other universes, might surprise
Some who can’t seem to realize
That reality is far from what we alone can comprehend.

How about your end?
A rip, a  crunch, it’s all the same to me.
But selfishly, I hope you stay
So that the fabric of my being will cease to fray.

How insignificant are we really?
Special, we deem ourselves, but according to probability,
It is far more likely that we are but an element in a plethora

Of societies far more capable than our own.
Unfortunately, no matter how many there are, such a trial it is to ever find them.
Who knows? Maybe they’re sending messages to us:
Electromagnetic radiation permeates across the vacuum of nothingness.
Perhaps they’ve already come,
Planting seeds for us to discover years later.

No matter how crazy I sound, even the most esteemed academics know that, technically, anything is possible. Ah, the quantum realm, where we know nothing for certain,
Where probability rules its faithful servants.
Are you the antithesis of the “elegant universe”?
Proving that nothing of meaning has happened at all –
But simply a product of chance withal?
Even Einstein did disdain you,
And yet many hearty minds continue to appraise you.

No matter the truth,
I know that ever since my youth
I have felt comfort in immersing myself in constellations
As representations
Of abstract beliefs.

Some interpret certain observations as signs –
A shooting star results from a meteoroid.
Was my encounter
Meaningful in any way,
Or was it the work of luck in your feelingless void?