In our existence, life has been recognized as:
preconditioned, preconcerted, predestined,
confusing the bountiful, for the beautiful.
Ever so often doth waters drop on clay;
saturating our memories, of the ever after,
reminding us that from dirt we once came.
Suspended upon gravitational forces that kept us stationed,
most of which, collectively, formed a constant;
providing an example of life on a floating rock,
as if life could feasibly be enjoyable here
we search for purpose elsewhere.
As we go to the moon, and to mars as well.
Now knowing the cause,
we whimsically ponder on how we came to be,
narrowing it to either a mistake, or careful chemistry.
beneficiaries of an ever expanding canopy,
we are granted as much influence, as a grain of sand in space,
since knowledge presupposed our existence.
Thus plausible that life could have been a mistake,
we wake another day to find conflict;
what shirt to wear? Should I balm up my hair?
concepts which in the end, only affect our social-atmosphere.
Could it be that you and I are imaginary?
A dream within a dream, a program upon a computer screen?