Only a Blip...
by Odin Roark

How elusive,
this hide and seek cosmos,
allowing us to remain
but a blip,
tenuously safe
on Time's infinite screen.

Existence forever changing
lures man's eyes and ears
toward layers of nothingness,
whose density
remains temptingly
the everything of epiphany's lair.

To be there with distant stars,
we exercise our prerogative.
We dream another learned entitlement
continuing to play out assumed superiority.

Yet…

For some thinkers,
perceived freedom,
with its implied randomness
remains an unrealistic concept,
logic dictating correct thought and action,
conclusively deterministic.

For dialectics can develop conclusions
arising from given sets of postulates or premises,
but,
resignedly,
that is all it can do,
incapable of generating premises itself,
resulting experience remaining sterile,
capable only to expand.
not to grow.

Such is the state being void of creative ability

Still…

Our spec-identity on infinity's screen
deludes itself with a Pac-Man sense of conquest,
consuming all it can,
Unaware its insatiability.

This paradox of creativity and devouring
will inevitably reduce our sentient existence
to an even smaller blip,
eventuating cosmic dust
swirling within reason's captivity,
perhaps paving the only way
to be with the distant stars.