Standing stock-still,
necks craned skyward,
to view the awesome power,
of nature’s wrath and fury.
They talk of gods,
of places above and below,
the irony is lost on them,
that this is their beauty.
Earth and sun.
Moon and stars.
How much more miraculous,
or brilliant do you need?
They say there must be a creator,
to bring this from nothingness,
but how profound to think,
that all was once darkness.
And now there is light,
stars and quasars,
supernovae and black holes,
planets, moons, comets, and asteroids,
and a million more things.
Some we’ll never know.
More we’ll never see.
Oh how this is diminished,
by gods and deities.
More importantly, I ask,
doesn’t that cheapen life?
The universe?
Everything?
It’s an eternal question,
one I’ll always ask;
isn’t life grander,
more sacred,
if formed by random chance?
S. M. Nolan's Sci-Fi Logbook 