universe

The Universe. (Done out of sheer boredom)

We are 99% genetically identical to chimpanzees
The cleverest of them can do sign language with ease
Stephen Hawking's can do quantum mechanics in his head
1% of genetic material must mean a lot, enough said

We are not special you nor me
we are made of the same elements as the heavens, don't you see
Hydrogen, Helium, Oxygen, Nitrogen and Carbon have an abundance all around
Only Helium in the human body cannot be found

We are the same as the sun and the stars
We are the same as the atmosphere on Mars
You may feel the Earth is lost in space
But what we are made of is found all over the place

You may feel lost and watch time pass by
But you can look up to all that is upon high
So next time you do stop and stare
You can say, I have a connection right there.

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The Behemoth, Submerged

He's thankfully placid, continent-sized;
eyeless in hide with maw opened wide -
able to drain with a swallow such seas
that dot all our nations and drown us in reeds.
Momentum from current and liquefied air
that pull all his mass, abyssal to snares
caught on his bulk from boats with their winches,
torn down to depths in sways made of inches.
As per his drifting, his marginal 'lax,
creatures don't fear, nor dare they attack;
but come to conform, so tapered and dull,
swirling in droves about the flesh of his hull.
Blind to the sunlight or its absence in dark,
wading at ease with immensity stark
against the frontier of blues and of black,
with faint little glimmers that peck at his back.
And shy as he isn't, soundless he is;
his traveling porous like something candid,
with gears beyond grasp affixed to his lid
that grind without oil or layout or grid.
Though only a moment, this moment he'd pause,
and rear up his snout in something like awe
of shimmering surface that houses the sky
and stars made to glimpse when darkness is nigh.
In this reprieve, a clear thought has course:
the behemoth recalls a familiar remorse.
The twinkle obscured by thrashing of waves
gives rise to a knowing that's buried in haze.
But just as his interest seems piqued and affixed,
he begins a descent, inattentive to quick
and flitting small life that must flee from below,
just as they'd done when he'd come long ago.

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Hope

The ancients spoke of the day of darkness; the last age; the day
when the end of worlds would swallow the galaxy, and would
tear apart our dimension. The children of the old ways feared
the demise of our world and the age. Many prophets warned of man's arrogance
and belief of his place and power in the universe, looking beyond their own
time, and long fearing their words would be forgotten to the ages.
Unless even one discovers their words, the darkness beyond darkness would
come. Even in the hours of demise, hope still exists.

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An attempt to take less for granted

Crisp clean morning air
Innocent delight - pure
A lottery winner
Results of natural equations
Complexity beyond human grasp
Circumstances set by
Eons of cause
Millenia of effect
Lines drawn on dirt
The road a universe
All encompassing web
History - Fate
And here we sit
Eyes glued to gold

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