Wednesday, May 6, 2015



               That we are here upon this precious Earth
               Alone, perhaps, in the whole universe,
               Would seem to give this world infinite worth,
               And yet it might betoken something worse.
               The existential loneliness we feel
               When gazing out upon the cosmic scene
               While wondering what those distances conceal
               And what our tenuous being here might mean
               Incites us to suppose and theorize
               If we are merely random happenstance
               Or something greater that we might surmise
               Emerged from purpose and not mindless chance.
                    If I must choose, I’ll place my bet on mind:
                    Our presence shows the cosmos is designed.