Dear Universe




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            Dear Universe,


I think you did a good job making everything. You did great making cats and hot chocolate and quiet, rainy days. Your galaxies are beautiful and your no school days are liberating. I like how you made it so that humans are empathetic and how they’re not the only ones who can share the burden of pain with someone or feel joy from another’s happiness. You gave us animals that feel and think and maybe they don’t in our way, but it showed us new ways to think. You made it so that we could make maps out of the stars and use them to find our way home and you gave us the spark to create new ways to find things. We found scientific laws and ways to go faster than light, we found ways to make each other laugh so hard we cry and how to identify what we feel. We learned how to kiss and hug with that spark. You gave it to us. That’s your spark, imbedded deep in the human soul. Humans – whose bodies are made of the same things as the stars they use to find home.

You made the Earth too. You made it so that some trees have pale bark and others have dark, sappy trunks. You made ferns that can grow nearly everywhere and bushes that have a shade of green that everybody can identify. The flowers you made have so many colors and combinations – and yet we are one of the few species that can see them all. The plains are filled with grass and flowers that smell sweet and are covered with animals and bugs, and we like to run around in them and pick flowers. We give them to people we think are just as beautiful. You made cacti and seas, oceans that connect to rivers all over the world, and you made it so that the tide is pushed and pulled by the moon. And like the stars, the moon shines in the sky, providing light during the night where no light was supposed to be. You meant to give us that light, didn’t you? The planet turns so fast and yet we never feel it. Animals and humans alike, we don’t feel how chaotically our planet is flying through the cosmos, stuck in one place because of the biggest light in the solar system. Like even our planet is looking for something bright.

All the planets burn and freeze and make poison - they’re so amazing. And meanwhile back in our small, huge lives, we make ourselves coffee and take the bus to work. We come home to watch Netflix or hug the love of our lives, but we hurt too. We hurt each other. We’re all made of stars and we’re trying to destroy one another. There’s been bombs and innocent civilians dead, bodies thrown into the wind as another bomb hits. There’s been No Man’s Lands, where if you were to foolishly travel, you’d collapse because hundreds of bullets just ripped through your flesh at once. There’s been thirteen-year-old boys with guns in middle schools and sixteen-year-old girls overdosing on heroin. There’s been parents who call their daughters “son” and who throw out their son because he went to prom with his boyfriend. There’s been strange men who follow young girls home from school and break in, late in the night, to do what they want and odd women who tell their boyfriends that they should want it, that only women can say no. There’s husbands who hit their wives and mothers who wake up in post-alcoholic dazes to find that their child left for school hours ago. There’s two kids somewhere who won’t ever see their father again and more kids who last saw their mother while visiting the cemetery, there’s brothers who were split up and pairs of sisters that were cut apart with a scythe. There’s people who die young, who suffer, who become dark. People who don’t want to live anymore, who get killed because of who they are.

And there’s people who sing and dance – people who spread their spark, their share of the Universe. There’s people who can move hearts and souls through their words – written or spoken. There’s somebody dying of old age with little regret and another person who’s just married the love of their life. There’s somebody who’s made a new friend and a little girl who got a puppy for Christmas. We have music – where we can pick up a tempo and hold it in our souls and pick out our favorite instruments, our favorite singers. Music that makes people laugh, cry, and smile. Music made from pain and love, meant to help the singer feel and to help the listener know they aren’t alone. Stories are songs in their own right – songs without sound but are like music to the soul. Stories that provide refuge for many and entertainment for more, not always in the form of a book. There’s pain but then there’s art, drawing and writing and painting, all just to show how loud we feel, how brilliantly we feel. How painful our pain is and how peaceful our bliss is, how energizing and lively our happiness is, how gloriously godlike our joy is. We look to other people for comfort, for closeness. We hug our friends and our parents kiss us on our cheeks even if it embarrasses us. We play games and run around in fields and we shout, we gather in a big building and scream our support for people who are playing games. We cheer.

We learn how to walk by watching and we learn how to speak by listening, but not all of us learn how to live. Most of us seem to figure it out, though. While people are dying in useless wars, we can still enjoy throwing snowballs at our friends and eating our favorite cake on a Friday night, we can still live. The spark you gave us taught us how.


Sincerely, an observer.

This poem is about: 
Our world



Okay I'm sorry for the weird text at the top, I'm new and can't figure out how to get rid of it.

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